Gawain of the Greenwood
by The Urban Spaceman
Summary: When Sir Thomas Grey hears rumours of an unknown Lord laying claim to the ancient Greenwood on the edge of his own lands, he decides to investigate for himself. Always eager for excitement and adventure, his children accompany him to meet the mysterious and enigmatic Lord Gawain.
1. Rumours

_Author's note: If you've never seen Covington Cross before, please give this story a chance. I promise I'll ease you into the characters so you know who's who. Covington Cross was a TV show aired in 1992, chronicling the life of a medieval English knight and his grown-up children, and the various adventures they had. There are thirteen episodes in total, all available to watch on youtube, lasting about 45 minutes each._

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Gawain of the Greenwood

_1. Rumours_

Eleanor Grey had exciting news to tell her brothers. There was but one problem; she could not find them anywhere. The eldest two, Armus and Richard, were supposed to be checking over Father's finance ledgers, to make sure everything from the past year tallied up and check that the farms on the Grey's land weren't going to under-produce. Cedric, the youngest of the Grey children, was supposed to be in the scullery checking the stock and writing up an inventory so that Father could budget for the Castle's outgoings for the rest of the year.

But Cedric was not in the kitchen, and neither Richard nor Armus were in Father's study, though the ledgers had been left open on the desk. Exasperated by her brothers' absence, she stuck her head into the last room she could think to check for them; the solarium, at the top of the castle. The glass-roofed room was, however, silent and empty. Eleanor frowned, and tucked a lock of her long red hair behind one ear. She chewed her lower lip as she considered the situation. Just where could her brothers have gone?

"Oh, excuse me Miss Eleanor," said Maryann, stepping into the solarium just as Eleaner was leaving it. The serving woman moved aside, holding her sweeping brush out of the way so that Eleanor could squeeze past.

"Have you seen my brothers anywhere, Maryann?" Eleanor asked her. Servants usually had a better idea of what was going on inside a castle than the nobles who lived there, and Covington Cross was no exception.

"As a matter of fact, I saw them out in the courtyard but ten minutes ago, practising their sword skills." Maryann blushed. She was quite enamoured with Cedric, and could often be seen watching him from afar, a look of longing and affection in her eyes. Unfortunately, Maryann was a young woman who could best be described as 'homely,' with essence of 'rotund' added into the mix. Cedric, who had a fine eye for pretty girls, barely even noticed the serving-woman, unless she was heaping his favourite vegetables onto his plate.

"Thank you," Eleanor smiled. She left the servant to go about her business, and set off down the carpeted hallway. It didn't come as a huge surprise to hear that her brothers were outside instead of working. Father had recently agreed that Cedric could train to become a knight instead of a priest, as was his initial fate, and Eleanor's younger brother barely needed an excuse to pick up a weapon to practice his fighting skills. It was a fine April day, the lingering winter crispness in the air made less harsh by the strength of the shining sun, and Eleanor knew that it wouldn't have taken Cedric long to persuade Richard and Armus to train with him. After a winter mostly cooped up in the castle because of deep snow, all of the Grey children took advantage of the fine spring weather; when it wasn't pouring with rain, of course.

_Clack clack clack._

As Eleanor reached the outer door to the courtyard, she could hear the rhythmic sound of wood striking wood echoing down the stone corridors. Then came a voice, heavily laden with a tone of approval.

"I say, good strike, Cedric!"

Eleanor smiled. Armus had spent years away from home, fighting—or rather, cooking—in the Crusades, and had returned only a few short months ago, to the delight of the whole family. Covington Cross was a more cheerful place, now that Armus was back. Her eldest brother had a sort of… presence. Whenever Armus was around, she felt safe, as if no catastrophe, no matter how big, could darken her day. It probably helped that Armus was a giant of a man, tall and strong, and very used to eating well. Father said Armus had been little more than a scrawny youth when he'd set out with the other knights to ride to the East, but now he was anything but scrawny. In fact, he'd even put on a little weight, since returning home. Not that Eleanor would ever point out Armus' expanding girth to him directly.

When she pushed open the door, she was met by the sight of Richard and Cedric circling each other. They had moved on from blades to staves; the wooden practice swords were leaning against the wall, against which Armus was lounging. The fight, it seemed, had been going on for some time. Both of her brothers looked sweaty, their boots all scuffed where they had been stepping in circles through the dust and dried horse manure of the courtyard.

Neither of her brothers were smiling. Richard, second eldest of the Grey Children, was always sensible and serious, and Eleanor knew that even when he was training, he focused as if it was a life and death situation. His light-brown hair, which curled up at the ends, swung around his face as he moved to and fro trying to break through Cedric's guard. His technique was, of course, perfect. Richard liked things just-so. In fact, he could be a bit of a stick-in-the-mud at times, but Eleanor didn't love him any less for it.

Cedric was the complete opposite. He was easy-going, whimsical, care-free… and his fighting style depended more on instinct and intuition than Richard's rigidly practiced method. The youngest of the Grey children didn't hold his stave as quite as he was supposed to, favouring a grip wider than it should have been, and no amount of prompting from Armus could correct that. Cedric's black hair clung damply to his forehead and neck, and his light blue eyes watched his brother's face intensely. The only thing he shared with Richard was a stubborn-headed determination to succeed; he wouldn't give his brother an easy victory.

She descended the stone steps and joined Armus in watching the fight. As much as she wanted to tell her news, she knew that it wasn't fair to interrupt two fighters when they were in the flow of things. When she stood next to her brother, he gave her a gentle nudge with his elbow, and a warm smile. With his floppy blond hair, friendly grey-blue eyes and easy-going, laid-back manner, she knew that Armus would make some woman a fine husband one day. Father said that war changed a man, but Armus seemed as cheerful as Eleanor remembered him. Not that she could remember much; she had been but a child when he had ridden off to the Crusades, newly knighted and carrying one of his father's finest swords.

Now, the sword had been passed to William, younger brother to Armus and Richard, older brother to Eleanor and Cedric. William had left for the Crusades just before Armus had returned, leaving Eleanor with the feeling that she'd lost one brother and gained another. She missed William terribly, and prayed nightly for his safe return. But they were prayers said with a heaviness in her heart. She knew it would likely be many years before William would be able to return from the East… unless he was terribly injured, of course. It would be better to wait years to see her brother well again, than to see him sooner but wounded, Eleanor thought.

"Keep your left elbow down, Cedric," Armus prompted.

The fight, Eleanor suspected, would not last much longer. Already Richard had knocked Cedric to the ground three times; one more time would mean a disqualification for the youngest of the family's children. Cedric was the brother to whom Eleanor was closest, and understood most of all. They were of a similar age, though Cedric had been just a babe when their mother had died. During the years of their childhood, Eleanor had spent more time with Cedric than her other brothers. She knew how desperately he wanted to be a knight, rather than a cleric, and she was glad that Father had given him permission to stay and train in the arts of war. Covington Cross just wouldn't have been the same, if Cedric had been sent off to study for the cloth.

The fight ended abruptly when Richard knocked Cedric's legs from beneath him, sending his younger brother falling backwards, where he landed on the muddy ground with a groan. Victorious, Richard stood over his opponent for a moment, breathing heavily. Then he leant down and offered Cedric his hand, helping his younger brother to his feet.

"You're improving," Richard offered, by way of compliment. "You lasted much longer this time."

"I don't want to 'last'," Cedric complained, throwing the stave onto the ground, "I want to win. There must be something more that you and Armus aren't telling me."

Armus stepped forward, to speak in Richard's defence. "Nothing can replace practice, Cedric. You know all of the moves, you know how to block and how to attack, and how to sweep. Richard has had much more practice than you… but if it helps, we can switch places, and you can watch me soundly thrash him."

The last was accompanied by a wink, and Cedric grinned. Both he and Armus shared a love of jokes, and they were similar in many other ways. As the youngest son, Cedric could be more care-free than Armus, but both brothers were friendly and laid-back, and rarely stayed angry for long; unlike Richard, who could carry a grudge and brood for weeks.

"What about you, dear sister?" Cedric asked, throwing an arm around Eleanor's shoulders. "Perhaps I could start by thrashing you, and work my way up. In a few weeks, I'll be able to defeat even Armus, and then perhaps I'll move on to felling mountains as well."

Armus laughed, and gave Cedric a playful pat on the shoulder that almost sent both Cedric and Eleanor sprawling. "You should be so lucky! I've seen Eleanor practice with the stave more than once, and she's very good. Easily an even match for you."

"Thank you, Armus," she smiled, grateful for her brother's praise. Though Armus was kind, he was also honest, and would not have said she had skill unless she truly had it. And more than that, the stave was Armus' favoured weapon, because it didn't have to be lethal. That he thought she was good with the weapon was high praise. "But I didn't come down here for practice."

"Are you feeling ill?" Richard asked, the closest he would probably ever come to telling a joke.

"Not at all. But I overheard the cook telling the serving staff that father wants the castle in good condition for when Sir Redford arrives tomorrow," she said.

"I remember Sir Redford, if a little vaguely," said Armus, a thoughtful expression on his face as he searched his memory. "Sometimes I think he was a close to mother as he was to father. He used to adore listening to her play the lute."

"He comes to visit once every couple of years," Richard said, his posture stiffening up. He did the same thing every time somebody mentioned mother; her death had been hard on him, and he had carried that experience with him ever since. Unlike Eleanor and Cedric, Richard was old enough to remember their mother well, and sometimes Eleanor thought that was a greater burden on Richard than not remembering mother was on Eleanor herself. "He and father like to stay up late talking and drinking, and sometimes they go hunting with the hounds, for deer."

"I wonder why he's keeping it quiet," said Cedric. "It's not like father to keep secrets."

"Maybe because this is the first time Armus has seen Sir Redford in a long time," Richard replied. "He's probably trying to make it a surprise. We should all play along."

"I don't care why father's keeping it secret," Eleanor said, "I'm just glad that Sir Redford is visiting. He'll help cheer father up, I'm sure. You know that he's been pining ever since Lady Elizabeth left to visit her children in France."

"He's not the only one who's been a little down lately," Cedric said. "I think you're starting to miss her a little too."

"Oh please, she's a ghastly woman," Eleanor scoffed. But there wasn't as much venom in her words as there would once have been. Eleanor had hated Lady Elizabeth at first – how dare the woman try to usurp the place of Ann Grey? Eleanor had been the only one to hate Elizabeth; her brothers all liked her, and didn't seem to care that she was trying to worm her way into Sir Thomas Grey's heart. It was only now that Eleanor realised exactly why she hated Elizabeth; it wasn't because the Lady loved Sir Thomas, or because she felt threatened by the other woman's presence. It was because Elizabeth was everything that Eleanor both did and did not to be. Lady Elizabeth was a strong, independent woman, who ran her own castle and lands since her third husband had died in the crusades. She had an incredible head for business and finance, and she needed no man to help run her affairs. She was respected throughout England, and a favourite at court.

But at the same time, Lady Elizabeth was beautiful and dignified. The dresses she wore were of the highest quality materials, and fit her like a glove. She enjoyed the attention of men, but had eyes only for Sir Thomas. And though she was strong and independent, there was a sense of delicacy about her that immediately made men want to help and protect her. It was a contrast that Eleanor had struggled for a long time to understand, and even now was only beginning to grasp. Her own way was to demand respect from men by being like them, by being able to ride like a man, run like a man and fight like a man. Unfortunately, most men didn't seem to respect her abilities – in fact, they felt threatened by her, or laughed at her. Only from her brothers and the servants did she receive the respect she felt she deserved, but they hardly counted, because her brothers were family, and the servants were paid for their work and usually agreed with whatever she said.

Lately, Eleanor had been spending a little more time with Lady Elizabeth, learning about how to be a 'proper' woman. She'd started wearing dressed more often, allowed pins to be put into her hair for decoration, and had even started learning about music. But now that Elizabeth was gone, Eleanor had quickly slipped back into her old ways. Yes, dresses looked nice on a woman, but they were terrible to ride in, and even worse for fighting in. And yes, her hair looked nice when it had decorative pins in place, but mostly it just fell about her face and irritated her, so now she wore it braided behind her head, so that it was less of an inconvenience.

When she realised that her brothers were watching her, and looking very amused, she desperately searched for a new subject, and fell back on a favourite; teasing her younger brother.

"I'm nowhere near as unhappy about Lady Elizabeth leaving, as you are about Alexandra Mullens being sent back to the convent school."

Cedric frowned, and the light of mischief disappeared from his eyes. Cedric was known for his antics with young women, and they rarely failed to respond to his attempts to charm them. Alexandra was one of the few who had kept his attention for any length of time, and the two had had several clandestine meetings with each other, whenever they could escape from their fathers' eyes. It was just a shame that Alexandra, who was nice and sweet and innocent and beautiful, and everything else that a lady should be and therefore was mostly despised by Eleanor, was also the daughter of John Mullens, the most evil man in England who had hated the Greys for as long as Eleanor could remember.

"It's not fair," Cedric complained. "He only sent her back there to keep her from me. He doesn't care about her education."

"Cedric, every mother in the country would send their daughters to convent schools if they thought it would keep them safe from you," Richard pointed out. "Honestly, what do you expect? It's just lucky that Mullens doesn't know the full extent of your relationship with Alexandra. If he suspected that you truly love her, and had met with her in secret more than once, he'd probably challenge you to armed combat."

"Or more likely poison you," Armus interjected. "Since he has no more sons to fight dirty for him anymore."

"You'll find somebody else, Cedric," said Richard, "there's plenty other women to choose from."

Eleanor looked at Cedric, and read the unspoken words in his eyes. They were the same words that she knew were in her own eyes, too; this was a dangerous subject. By mutual unspoken agreement, they had decided to never speak of such matters—women, and love—whenever Richard and Armus were around. Recently, Richard had begun courting Charlotte Wyatt, the daughter of a business acquaintance of their father. Unfortunately, Armus had loved her first, and had asked Richard for help in wooing her. His plan had backfired; Charlotte had fallen for Richard, not Armus, and though the eldest brother had given them his blessing, everybody in the family knew that the matter still cut Armus deeply. It was a wound that would take much longer to heal. So, just as the moment was starting to become uncomfortable, Eleanor looked desperately at Cedric, pleading silently with him to change the subject.

Thankfully, he answered her plea, and found something else to comment on. "I'm surprised Father didn't go to France with Lady Elizabeth."

"I'm not," Armus scoffed. "You weren't here when we had to meet her children, Cedric. You're lucky."

"I hear that Lenore is quite beautiful," Cedric probed, with all the subtlety of a hound with a toothache.

"She's pretty enough, I suppose," Richard said, sounding entirely uninterested. Of course, he _would_ sound uninterested; as far as he was concerned, every other woman alive paled in comparison to his dear Charlotte. "Rather... dull, though."

"And the only other thing duller than Lenore is her brother, Adam," Eleanor added quickly. "When father chivvied me into speaking with him, I thought that perhaps talk of riding and hunting would excite him. Honestly, I've had better conversations with Damascus!" Her beloved horse, Damascus, was her pride and joy. Her father had bought him for her, a spirited four year old stallion, and she'd broken him herself. He still required a lot of training, but he never seemed to tire no matter how fast she pushed him.

"You know, Cedric," Armus said, with a wicked gleam in his eyes, "if Father and Lady Elizabeth were to marry, that would make Lenore your sister."

"Though I'm fairly certain that spending more than five minutes alone with her would cool your ardour," Eleanor added sweetly.

"Ahh... so I hear Sir Redford is visiting tomorrow," Cedric said, changing the subject once more.

"It will be good to see him again," Armus smiled. "It's been too long."

"He has a few more grey hairs these days," said Richard. "But I'm sure he'll be as thrilled to see you as we all were." He offered his elder brother a friendly smile.

"Perhaps if we're to spend all day tomorrow visiting with Sir Redford, we should spend the rest of the today hunting for something to put on the dinner table," Armus suggested.

Eleanor laughed, along with Richard and Cedric. Food was always on Armus' mind, and he ate enough each meal to sate three men. She suspected that if her brother didn't spend so much of his time being active, he'd be the size of his own sturdy horse by now.

"I'll tell Randolph to saddle the horses," Richard said, handing his stave to Armus and walking off in the direction of the stables.

"I'll put these weapons away and fetch our bows," Armus said, and disappeared into the armoury.

Cedric gestured at his muddy shirt. "And I'll go and change into something a little cleaner, just in case we chance upon a fair maiden out in the woods."

Eleanor smiled and shook her head as Cedric climbed the steps and entered the castle. Life at Covington Cross was never dull, and she suspected that with Sir Redford visiting, it was going to become even more exciting.


	2. Old Friends and Tall Tales

Gawain of the Greenwood

_2. Old Friends and Tall Tales_

Breakfast at Covington Cross had never been an official affair. Usually, the children rose in their own time and made their way down to the breakfast table to pick at what was on offer, when they didn't just go straight to the kitchen for food. Normally it was Armus up first, because he loved the quietness of early mornings, when most of the castle was still abed. More often than not it was Richard up next, dressed as if he meant to do battle right there and then. Since being knighted, he was rarely parted with his sword, and sometimes he even wore it in the castle, where it wasn't required. In the past, Eleanor had been the one to traditionally wake and descend from her bedroom after Richard, with Cedric laying around in bed and making his way downstairs at a much later hour, but their roles had been reversed of late. Now that Eleanor was taking greater care with her appearance, she spent more time dressing and setting her hair in the mornings, causing her to be later to breakfast, whilst Cedric, who no longer chose to tarry to delay his religious lessons with the Friar which he found most tedious, was up sometimes as early as Richard, especially if they planned to go hunting.

It was therefore a great surprise to Sir Thomas when he came down the stairs from his bed chamber and found all four of his children seated at the dining room table, enjoying a meal of toasted bread, fried eggs, boiled tomatoes and rashers of bacon, and civilly discussing the weather, of all things. His suspicions were raised even further when he noticed Eleanor wearing one of her best dresses and looking particularly lovely; an obvious sign she was making an effort for something. He wondered... was it possible? Had she finally found a young man whose attention she desired? If so, it was a miracle. Though he'd introduced many young men to her over the years, it seemed she had little interest in them, beyond their skill in hunting and fighting. Sometimes he despaired over his daughter, though he loved her dearly.

Then he noticed that his other children, too, appeared to have made an effort with their looks. Richard had combed his hair, and the pommel of his sword seemed particularly polished, though other than that he was his usual immaculate self. Armus was wearing a new shirt, loose-fitting and dark green but with fine gold embroidery around the sleeves and hem, which looked like ivy crawling across the material. And Cedric... well, Cedric always looked well-dressed and clean, though Sir Thomas suspected he'd polished his boots and made an attempt to thoroughly scrub beneath his fingernails.

"Do my eyes deceive me?" he asked, pulling out the seat at the head of the table, "all of my children here, around the table, at breakfast time? Well, I know it isn't my birthday... so what occasion is this?"

"Oh, we just happened to all be up at the same time," said Armus. He helped himself to another two sausages and a slice of toasted bread.

"I see," he said, and settled himself into the chair. Perhaps their being here was fortuitous, and a good omen. "Well, I'm glad that you're all here. Sir Redford is passing by on his way home from business at court, and I have offered him the hospitality of Covington Cross, which he has gratefully accepted. He will be here at noon, and will spend the night."

All of the children broke into smiles at his announcement, and said how delighted they were to hear of Sir Redford's visit. Children he thought of them, and always would, but they were by no means children anymore. They were now grown men and women, with their own thoughts and desires. Armus, eldest son, should rightfully be married by now, with children of his own. But life after the crusades had not been easy for him, and Sir Thomas had been unwilling to push his son on the matter, especially since he had recently had his heart broken by Charlotte Wyatt, whom he had loved and lost. No, it was not the right time to try finding a wife for Armus. First, his son needed to fully readjust to life away from the battle-field. Sir Thomas had seen only too well what became of men who could never accept the things they had seen. They became broken and twisted as the darkness of death and struggle tore at their hearts and their minds. He could not let that happen to Armus. He would not.

There was, perhaps, some hope for Richard, however. His courting of Lady Charlotte Wyatt was progressing smoothly, if slowly. Sir Thomas could not blame his son for his caution; the Wyatts and the Greys had once been hostile, almost as hostile as the Greys and the Mullens. All that had changed when Richard had managed to secure a trade contract between Sir Wyatt and Sir Thomas himself, winning Charlotte's heart in the process. But decades of suspicion were a hard thing to overcome, even when held at bay by a tenuous trade agreement. Richard took his courting of Charlotte slowly not for their sake, but for Sir Wyatt's sake, and for Sir Thomas'. It showed wisdom and maturity; the very wisdom and maturity that Sir Thomas had come to expect from his second-eldest son.

If only some of that wisdom and maturity could rub off on Cedric. His youngest son flitted from girl to girl like a butterfly from flower to flower, stopping momentarily to savour the sweet scent of nectar but never staying long enough at any one flower to grow accustomed to it. He was led by his heart all too often, and seemed to fall in love as easily as any other man might draw breath. That in itself might not have been a bad thing if the girls he pursued showed some level of restraint and stood up to him, but one look from Cedric was usually all it took to win their hearts; either that, or Cedric had learnt how to pick the naïve ones on sight. The only hope for Cedric was if he found a woman to not only attract him to the sweet scent of nectar, but to interest him enough to make him stay.

Eleanor, his beloved Eleanor, was unfortunately going to have to learn to compromise if she ever wanted to find a truly worthy husband. It was something that Sir Thomas suspected would take a long time, though Lady Elizabeth was making great progress with her. Already, Eleanor looked much less uncomfortable in a dress than she would have done three months ago, and her music was... well, it was coming along slightly slower than Richard's courtship of Charlotte, but as Elizabeth herself had said, not everybody had an aptitude for music.

At the thought of Lady Elizabeth, Sir Thomas felt a familiar ache in his chest. God, how he missed her! She'd been gone for only two weeks, but already he wished she was back. She'd been a constant in his life for over twenty years, a friend of the family even before Ann's death, and for the past few months she'd been his lover as well. It had taken him a long time to come to terms with his feelings for her, and to make the decision to pursue their relationship beyond friendship, but now that he had told her of his feelings for her, he found that he didn't want to be away from her.

"Will Sir Redford be staying long, Father?" Richard asked.

"No, just for the one night. He's eager to get back home after concluding several business agreements… it was difficult enough to get him to agree to even a night here. I know you've probably all made plans, but I would like you all to be present when he arrives, so that we can greet him as a family."

"Of course, Father," Eleanor said innocently.

It was then Sir Thomas realised why his children were looking their best. They already knew that Sir Redford was visiting. But how? He'd given the staff strict instructions not to gossip or speak of it in front of the children. Then again, they were very resourceful. Armus was close to the kitchen staff, Richard was friendly with Sherwood, one of the village labourers who worked as a serving-man at the castle, Eleanor always listened to the gossip of Sarah and Maryann, and Cedric was able to charm secrets from almost any woman, servant or noble. There was no telling how they had heard the news, but perhaps it was for the best. Sir Redford's visit had done what Sir Thomas himself could not; it had brought his family together for breakfast, and caused them to make an effort to appear at their best. Normally only a visit to the king was capable of achieving such results, which showed how highly the youngsters regarded Sir Thomas' old friend.

"I wonder if Lady Marie will be travelling with her father," Cedric mused, whilst Sir Thomas fought back a long-suffering sigh. He had tried as hard as he could to change Cedric's behaviour, as well as Eleanor's, but nothing seemed to work. Cedric remained irreverent and irresponsible; almost the exact opposite of Richard. Sir Thomas often wondered how he had managed to raise such different children. Regardless of their differences though, and the difficulties he'd had in raising them largely alone, he wouldn't have changed his children for any other in the land. A man could do a lot worse than children who were intelligent, brave, passionate and caring, even if they were stubborn, strong-willed and often completely oblivious to the repercussions of their actions.

"It will be good to see Sir Redford again," said Armus, raising his cup of milk in a mock toast. "It's been so long, that I think I may have forgotten his face. Have the years changed him much, Father?"

"Very little," he replied. "Except that his fondness for wine has increased."

"That sounds about right," Armus chuckled. "I remember when he used to sit with William on one knee and a glass of wine in one hand, listening to mother play the lute."

"I enjoyed hunting with him two years ago," Richard added. "You remember that don't you, Father? You invited William and I to join the two of you, and William managed to fall off his horse as it was crossing the river. He was soaked, but he chose to stay out hunting instead of returning home. I think Sir Redford respected him for that."

"The thing I enjoy best about him are his stories," said Cedric. "The way he describes everything… you can really imagine yourself being there, right in the thick of it."

"Just remember that Sir Redford isn't as young as he used to be," Sir Thomas warned. "You're not to go exhausting him. He's already ridden hard from the king's palace."

"We promise that Sir Redford will feel right at home," Eleanor assured him. "Besides, if anybody tires him, it's you, Father. We're not the ones who stay up drinking until late."

"Hmph. True enough," he acknowledged. When he and Sir Redford had been younger, their late-night drinking sessions had been the stuff of castle legend, and it gotten so bad that both Ann and Sir Redford's wife, Catherine, had barred their husbands from their bedchambers until they sobered up. He and John Redford had spent more than one night sleeping in the stables, much to the disgust of the horses and amusement of the stable-hands.

For the rest of the morning Sir Thomas spent his time stalking the castle, poking his head into nooks and crannies, inspecting the windowsills and suits of armour on display for dust or cobwebs. He was pleased that he found none; he had a good staff, here at Covington Cross. They were honest and hard-working for the most part, and never shirked their duties. He knew he could rely on them to keep the place in good condition, if not to keep secrets.

When the hour of noon drew near, word came from one of the scouts at Sir Redford's party had been seen approaching Covington Village. Sir Thomas' excitement began to reach a peak, as it always did when he was meeting up with an old friend. He was in his chambers when he saw riders emerge from the woods near the castle, and he immediately left his room, calling for his children to join him in the courtyard. It was hard to tell who was more excited; Sir Thomas himself, or the youngsters. Armus appeared from his room and bounded down the stairs three at a time. Cedric and Eleanor followed him, vying for second position, whilst Richard followed more slowly, attempting to saunter and therefore hide his excitement.

As they assembled in the courtyard, Sir Thomas surveyed the castle. It had been designed to be as much a sprawling estate as it had impregnable fortress. The bulk of the castle was just three storeys high, if you included the dungeon, and its four towers rose into the skies as if trying to reach heaven itself. The flag of Covington Cross flew proudly atop each tower, fluttering in the breeze. The courtyard was as clean as a courtyard could be, the horse dung removed by the stable-hands as fertiliser for the fields, and the cobbles scrubbed once a week to prevent moss and lichen taking hold. Out in the grounds, the villagers tilled their fields, large oxen hitched to ploughs, as children followed behind, removing large stones that were overturned during ploughing. It wouldn't be long before the crops would be planted; the ground was less and less frozen every morning, and soon spring would be upon them.

In the courtyard itself, his children assembled by the well. Armus, his first-born son, taller than any man, with a generous heart to match his generous size. Richard, who had been Sir Thomas' rock whilst Armus had been away, who had played the part of eldest and made it his own. Now Richard was a skilled and worthy knight, and Sir Thomas was glad that he had not chosen to join William in the crusades. Beside Richard was Eleanor, his only daughter, as fierce as a tomcat and as brave as five men. And last was Cedric, who so resembled his mother not only in appearance but in spirit and soul that at times it was almost painful for Sir Thomas to have him near, a constant reminder of his great love and his great loss.

Smiles grew on the children's' faces when four horses came clattering into the courtyard, their banner and trappers displaying the coat of arms—three red oak trees—of the Redford family. The two men in the rear were knights that Sir Thomas knew by sight, if not by name, but the third man was a stranger; a merchant, he suspected, by the cut of the man's garb. And at the head of the small procession, riding a fine white destrier that looked to be of good breeding and temperament, was Sir John Redford, resplendent in his shining armour, his now-white hair and beard trimmed and immaculate.

"Sir Thomas!" Redford called, as he halted and dismounted his horse. "It is wonderful to see you again!"

"And you, my friend," Sir Thomas replied, grasping the man's arm in greeting. "As always, my home is as yours. I trust the journey from court went smoothly?"

"Smoothly, though not without surprise," Sir Redford replied. "But that is a story for later, when we are somewhere warm and with wine."

"Of course. I know you're familiar with my children by now, but here is a face you haven't seen for a long time." When he gestured, Armus stepped forward, his head held high and his posture stiff, as if he expected a knightly inspection right there and then.

"Good God, that couldn't be Armus, could it?" Sir Redford asked, squinting at Armus with his brown eyes.

"It is indeed I, Sir Redford," Armus replied. "I'm honoured that you remember me."

"Thomas, are you sure they sent back your son from the crusades, and not one of the giants of Mycenae?"

"I sometimes wonder that myself," Sir Thomas smiled, clapping his eldest son on the shoulder.

"Well well," said Sir Redford, glancing past Armus to where Eleanor stood smiling. "It seems my trip has heralded more than one surprise. Eleanor, wearing a dress? What miracle of The Lord am I witnessing here?"

"No miracle, Sir Redford," Eleanor said, stepping forward to embrace the older man gently, as a lady should—something she had been practising with Elizabeth, Sir Thomas knew. "I've just come to realise there are times when a dress is more suitable than a pair of trousers."

Sir Redford looked so surprised by Eleanor's words, that Sir Thomas decided to throw yet another shock his way.

"And of course, Richard here is courting young Charlotte Wyatt," he said.

"Charlotte Wyatt?" Redford asked in disbelief. "As in, Wyatt who is one of your greatest adversaries?"

"Not quite so much an adversary these days. In fact, we're business partners. It is a fledgling relationship, but one that can only strengthen with time. I owe it all to Richard, in fact. He was the one who negotiated our first trade."

Sir Redford shook his head. "Armus returned from the crusades three times larger than when he left, William gone to fight too, Richard courting a member of the Wyatt family, you engaging in business with the Wyatts, and Eleanor wearing dresses? What madness has overcome you all? Next you'll be telling me that Cedric is planning on taking vows of celibacy and becoming a monk!"

"There's little chance of that, Sir Redford," Cedric grinned happily. "I've been saved from a scholarly fate by my father. In fact, Richard and Armus have been teaching me to fight as a knight."

"Well, at least you're still the same as I remember, if a little taller," Sir Redford said, putting an arm around Cedric's shoulders. "Tell me Cedric, how did you escape the madness that has struck the rest of your family?"

"A lot of skill and a little luck, I think."

"More than a little," Sir Thomas added.

"Indeed," said Sir Redford. Then he gestured to the man wearing merchant clothes; he was a rather plain man, probably in his early forties, and he watched the reunion with feigned interest. "Allow me to introduce Master Samuel Millon, my business advisor. He handles my finances, and points out the scoundrels who are trying to swindle me."

"An honour to meet you, Sir Grey," said Millon, dismounting from his horse and offering his hand. "I must say, I'm very grateful for your offer of hospitality. Sir John has been threatening to... 'rough it', I believe the term was. I think he sometimes pines for the days of his youth, when he had no choice but to shelter beneath the trees and eat whatever fell into his lap. Personally, I am more accustomed to comfort and hospitality. I'm afraid I would have made a terrible knight."

"Samuel loathes travelling," Sir Redford added, sounding scandalised, though Sir Thomas knew it was an exaggerated act. "I had to promise that if he came to see the king with me, we'd at least stop at Covington Cross for one night, and he wouldn't have to leave the Redford castle again for another year."

"I hope your journey was worth it," Sir Thomas replied, to both men. He was interested in hearing what business the two of them had drummed up, and what opportunities were still waiting to be snapped up. But he did not forget his obligations as host to a visiting noble. "I look forward to hearing about your foray over dinner, but for now, would you like to retire to the sitting room, and enjoy a glass of wine?"

"I would be delighted!" Sir Redford beamed happily. "And the children, of course, must come too. It would warm my heart to speak with them further. I'm afraid my own home is a much emptier place these days, what with Jareth and Dorian living in their own castles with their own wives and children. I don't see them often enough."

"What about Lady Marie?" Cedric piped up immediately.

"She met a young lord who took her fancy—Lord Merrick Cowley, of Bradford—and agreed to court him. I've let her go and live with my sister and brother-in-law, Lord and Lady Gosling, because they are neighbours of the Cowleys, and it will be easier for the youngsters to see each other. 'Tis just a trial, but they seem to genuinely care for one another, and I expect to receive a request for her hand before the end of the year."

"Oh," Cedric said, a small black cloud of gloom appearing above his head. Sir Thomas' one relief was that it wouldn't last long.

"I'm sorry, my boy, but I have no other daughters for you to court." Sir Redford gave Cedric's shoulder a friendly pat of commiseration. "If it's any consolation, she always spoke fondly of you. And speaking of women, where is the lovely Lady Elizabeth, Thomas? I hear she's rarely away from your side these days."

"She's travelling to France, to visit her children there," Sir Thomas explained, feeling the tightness in his chest once more. "Adam manages her estates for her, whilst Lenore takes music lessons at one of the great schools in Paris."

"Ahh, such a shame. Having a beautiful woman to watch is something I also miss." He wrapped an arm around Eleanor's shoulders, and gave her a charming, yet fatherly, smile. "It's good fortune that Eleanor is here; she is beautiful enough to keep the attention of a dozen lords, and more fool them for not being here now to see her looking so radiant."

"You flatter me, Sir Redford," Eleanor said, with a wide smile for the elder man. Sir Thomas was grateful that John Redford was an old friend, and that Eleanor knew he was merely being polite. Her answer to almost anybody else would have been an icy glare at best, and an elbow to the stomach at worst.

"Every woman should be told she's beautiful often, lest she forget it. Perhaps you'd favour me by allowing me to escort you to your father's sitting room," Redford said, offering his arm.

Eleanor gave him a curtsy, the smile on her face growing as she took his arm. "The honour would be mine, milord."

Sir Thomas led the way into the castle, walking beside Sir Redford, with Eleanor between them. Master Millon followed, answering questions thrown at him by Richard, who had quite a head for business himself. Cedric and Armus brought up the rear in silence, and Sir Thomas took the opportunity to look at his friend a little more closely.

Sir Redford was several years older than he, but they had always been close, almost as close as brothers, and the bond between them had only grown stronger when they had been knighted together; Thomas at the tender age of seventeen, and John at a more respectable twenty-one. Not only had they been the best of friends, they had also fought in battle together countless times against the blood-thirsty Saracens, and though they had both returned from the crusades with scars, that they had returned at all, when so many other young men did not, gave testament to their skill. They had saved each others' lives more than once, and no man had done more for Thomas than John Redford. He had been not only a friend, but a confidant. When Thomas had been afraid, or homesick, John had been there with a kind word of encouragement, and reassurance that every knight had doubts, but the truly great ones fought on in spite of them.

Not only had they been great friends, but their wives had, too. During the years when both men were away, Ann and Catherine had grown close, brought together by their loneliness and their fears that their husbands might never return. But both men had come back to the women they loved, and when Ann had borne Thomas a son, Catherine had not been far behind; Jareth was only three months younger than Armus. After Richard and William had been born, Catherine followed suit with a second son, Dorian, for Sir Redford, and just before Cedric's birth, Catherine had provided a daughter for her husband.

Both children would prove to be the last for their mothers. The winter before Ann died from the plague, Catherine contracted the sweating sickness. Still weak from a difficult childbirth that had left her near death, she finally succumbed to the illness, no longer able to find strength to draw breath. Sir Redford had been left a widower, and it had devastated him. When Ann had died later that year, Sir Redford was the only one who had been able to console him; not through words, or drink, but just by sitting with him and sharing his pain. Two friends, who had become knights together, fought together, returned home together, feasted together, and had been blessed with beautiful, healthy children, were once more united, but this time by grief, and the loss of the women they loved.

The years had not been as kind to John Redford as they had to Thomas Grey. He moved a little more slowly these days, as if his joints pained him, and no longer walked with the grace and fluidity common to the nobility, nor the swagger common to knights. His hair, though no whiter than Thomas', was thinner, and receding rapidly around the temples. His face was well-lined, with thread-veins visible around his nose and chin, where he was beginning to develop jowls. How long would it be, Thomas wondered, until he saw those same changes wrought in himself? How many more years did he have of feeling youthful despite his age? How long would it be before his grip became too weak to hold his sword, how long before his legs became too infirm to allow him to mount his horse unaided? Even though he felt sympathy for Sir Redford, he also envied the older man. His sons were married, with two children each, and lands and businesses of their own. Sir Thomas had no grandchildren yet. His own children either showed no inclination for marriage, no ability to settle with one person, or no skill in courting—other than Richard, of course. Would Sir Thomas Grey pass from the world without seeing the next generation of Greys? It was a sobering thought that darkened his mood, even as he entered the light and airy sitting room.

"Sarah, please fetch eight goblets of wine," he said to the servant waiting in the room. "And when the knights return from the stable, offer them drinks and rooms."

"Yes, Sir Thomas," Sarah said, and disappeared from the room.

Whilst Sir Redford and Master Millon settled themselves on chairs, surrounded by the children, Sir Thomas opened one of the windows, to let a little fresh air into the room. Perhaps he had gone a little overboard with the servants; he'd told them to make the castle look and smell nice, but the scent of lavender was almost overpowering. It had never been his favourite of the flowers, though it was said to be good for inducing sleep.

"Now then, young Richard," said Sir Redford, "I want to hear all about Charlotte Wyatt. I've never had the pleasure of meeting her. What is she like?"

Sir Thomas did not miss the look that passed between Eleanor and Cedric, and he shared some of their feelings on the matter. As pleased as he was about Richard's courtship, it came at a high price; Armus was still trying to put Lady Charlotte out of his mind, but it wasn't an easy thing for him to do. Richard was aware of it of course, and even though Armus had given him his blessing, he still tried to avoid speaking of her whenever his older brother was around.

"She is very beautiful, and intelligent," Richard said promptly. "And quite wise, for a woman."

Eleanor gave her brother a glare, whilst Cedric merely sniggered behind his hand, and Armus rolled his eyes. Richard, like all knights, had sworn to follow the code of chivalry upon being knighted, and that code stated that knights were to act with gallantry towards women, who were weaker than men, and more easily shocked by offensive behaviour. Many knights took that to mean that women were not as intelligent as men, and for a while, Sir Thomas had believed that too. What he had now come to realise, though, was that women were not less intelligent than men; they were just intelligent in different ways. Two men might settle their disputes by crossing swords. Women had no such outlet, so they watched, they observed, and they learnt how to behave to make others see things differently. Because they had no wars to fight, and no intensive training to undertake, they had much more free time on their hands than their husbands, and as a result, they were much, much better at politics than men. They were so good, in fact, that they rarely even let the men know just how good they were. They used their charms and their wiles to manipulate their husbands, brothers and sons, all the while allowing them to think that they were the ones who were in control. God help women if the Church ever found out what they were up to!

Richard and William had grown up privilaged; they'd trained hard with weapons, become pages and then squires to a local Lord, and been knighted each before they were twenty. But neither of them had seen a true battle; at least, not before William had left for the crusades. Neither of them had had much experience by which to judge themselves and others. Armus might have set out for the crusades with the code of chivalry safely stashed in his saddle-bags, but he had seen terrible things in the east, and no longer counted himself a knight. He'd seen honourable men commit dishonourable acts, and though he never spoke of them, Sir Thomas knew that they would haunt him for a long time, and that he would never forget the hypocrisy of it. Because of his experience, Armus had become more skeptical than either of his two younger brothers, and did not hold the code of chivalry close to his heart anymore. Instead, he followed his own code, a code which told him to be generous and gallant towards every person, and treat everyone as a friend, until that person proved himself untrustworthy or an enemy. There was more forgiveness in Armus' heart, than in any man Sir Thomas had ever met. At times it seemed an overwhelming quality for his son to bear, but it made Sir Thomas immensely proud of him.

Eleanor, naturally, did not believe that women were inferior in any way to men. She herself was living proof that a determined woman could ride, hunt and fight as well as any man; better than some men, even. She had broken more horses than any of her brothers, and once, disguised in Cedric's armour, she had bested a great swordsman in a contest of broadswords, delivering what would have been a killing blow were it not for the man's helmet. Whenever she went out hunting, she always brought back a kill, whether it was a hare, a pheasant, or something larger. Richard and William's insistence that women were weaker than men irritated her greatly, especially because it seemed to her that most women were weaker than men, and none other than she seemed to care about changing that perception. Sometimes it seemed as if she was trying to prove something to the world by taking up the activities of men, but he thought that she was finally coming to accept that strength did not have to mean physical strength, and intelligence did not have to mean the ability to plan a battle. Lady Elizabeth was slowly having an effect on his wayward daughter.

Cedric, meanwhile, probably wasn't even capable of thinking women weaker and less intelligent than men. Unlike his older brothers, he hadn't had the code of chivalry force-fed to him from birth. He'd also had the benefit of watching his sister grow up fully capable of doing everything he was, even though her older brothers had often teased her for it. The sad fact of it was, Cedric simply didn't have the common-sense to think about men and women in terms of strength and intelligence. To him, women were beautiful things to be flattered and charmed; his motives were simple and obvious, and he was oblivious to everything but a woman's beauty. It was his trusting, gullible nature that would one day get him into trouble. One day he would flatter the wrong one, and instead of a naïve girl, he would find himself with a crafty woman, who would realise what power she held over him, and use every ounce of it to her advantage. God help the poor boy, for nobody else could.

"Let me tell you a little story," Sir Redford said, gesturing for Richard to come closer. When he did, Sir Redford spoke again, but he didn't lower his voice any, clearly wishing to be heard by everyone. And it was truly amazing how the entire room turned its attention to him, watching his face with eager eyes. "There was once a great knight called Geoffrey of Gateshead, who lived in service to his Lord. Now, this Lord was not a bad man, but he was foolish, and gambled away his money on ventures that failed; he told his farmers to plant crops on river-banks that flooded often during the summer, he ordered the woodcutters to chop down trees that were too young to provide decent timber, and he asked his horse-keepers to breed horses of lesser stock with his finest coursers. Annoyed by his own incompetence and lack of insight, he sent his knights out into the realm, to seek out a spark of wisdom, which he hoped would make him a more shrewd man.

"The knights were puzzled by this request—hat does a spark of wisdom look like, after all?—but they obeyed their lord, just as the farmers had obeyed, and the woodsmen had obeyed, and the fellow who bred the horses obeyed, for the Lord was their master, and everybody knew that a man must obey his master. Geoffrey said goodbye to his wife, Lady Leanne, and left his home in her care. For many years he travelled, seeking the spark of wisdom. Along the way he consulted with many clerics and abbots and monks, hoping to find a spark of wisdom in the church, but they could only offer the same advice each time; ask your Lord to pray to the heavenly father. So then he sought out other Lords of the realm, and spoke to countless barons and earls and even a duke, and was given the same advice each time; ask your Lord to confer with his father, for it is the father who instills wisdom into the son. Still dissatisfied with this answer, for his Lord's father was deceased, Geoffrey grew more and more desperate with every passing month. Already he had been gone for several years, and though he had been through many fine adventures which would one day be sung by minstrels, he was growing weary of travelling.

"One night, he was caught out by bad weather, and forced to take refuge in a tiny, insignificant village. It was a place that smelled badly of swine and sheep, but as he had no food and no shelter for either himself or his horse, he knocked upon the door of the first house he encountered, and was met there by the village elder, a man who was completely blind. Naturally, the blind man took pity on the poor knight, and invited him into his small and humble home, offering the knight his own bed to sleep on. They got to talking, as men are wont to do, and the knight explained his plight to the elder. 'Ah, then you are in luck!' the elder said happily, 'for I am considered the wisest man in this area.' And the knight, feeling foolish for even contemplating his words, replied, 'Then please tell me, oh wise one, where I may find a spark of wisdom, that I can take back to my Lord, and be done with my travels forever more.'

"So then the elder replied, 'I truly am sorry, but I have listened to your tale, and it is obvious to me that you will never find what you cannot see, much less will you be able to carry it and give it to another.' The knight was angered by the elder's words, because he thought that the old man was mocking his quest. Infuriated, with hatred in his heart, he picked up his weapon and slew the elder, running him through with his sword."

Sir Thomas saw Cedric wince at the description, and recalled his son's earlier words; _The way he describes everything… you can really imagine yourself being there, right in the thick of it._ Sir Redford did not notice the momentary discomfort he had caused, and continued with his story.

"Geoffrey of Gateshead set off the next day for the castle of his Lord, expecting to find it burnt to the ground and the lands in ruin. But lo, to his amazement, when he reached the farmlands he found them thriving a short distance upriver. And the woods which had once been so heavily harvested were now thick and verdant, and spreading across the land. In the pastures were horses swift and strong, whose very bearing brought great hope to his heart. For he realised, then, that one of the other knights had succeeded where he had failed. One of them had found a spark of wisdom and brought it back for their lord, and his mind rejoiced as he made his way to the castle.

"When he reached the front gates, he was not recognised at first, because he had been gone for many years, his armour had grown tarnished and his horse was half-lame, but he asked for word of his arrival to be passed on to the Lord, and sure enough, he was swiftly admitted into the reception chamber. There he saw his Lord, now grey-haired and wearing a fine mantle of red velvet trimmed with the fur of a white fox, upon a shirt of of finest silk, trousers of finest cotten, and boots of finest leather. Geoffrey immediately dropped to his knees, and begged forgiveness for his failure. Then he asked, 'My Lord, which of your knights succeeded where I have failed? Was it Percy of Pembroke, or perhaps William of Worcester, or even Evan of Edgerton?'

"His Lord replied, 'Alas, Geoffrey of Gateshead, you are the only knight to have returned. The others have died, or perhaps are too shamed by their failure to return. But you I am glad to see, my friend.' To Geoffrey, it sounded as if his Lord was mocking him, calling him a coward for returning to shame, but he said nothing, because the Lord was his master, and everybody knew that a man must obey his master. So, still on his knees, he asked, 'My Lord, I have seen how well your farms are doing, how verdant your forests are, how magnificent your horses. Please, I must know, if not from one of your knights, then from where did this spark of wisdom come?' The Lord gave a small laugh, as if it was a question of no consequence, and said, 'From the Lady Leanne, of course. From your wife.'

"Anger seized Geoffrey's heart, and images passed through his mind, of his wife lying abed with the Lord, whispering poison into his ear. His own wife, who had been living in comfort in the arms of a Lord whilst Geoffrey had been toiling day and night on his quest. Standing, he fled from the room, taking his horse back before its saddle could be removed, and riding hard to the home he had left years before. He burst through the front door and found his wife there, older now, but no less beautiful. She was clad in a fine dress, far finer than anything Geoffrey could have afforded for her. In the room with her were three children, two girls and a boy, and they too were dressed well. _She's made a cuckold out of me. Whilst I have suffered, she has lain with my Lord and borne him bastards. She has lived a life of luxury and scorned everything that I am, and the vows we made to each other on our wedding night,_ Geoffrey thought.

"Before his wife could open her mouth, he drew his sword and killed her, and then he turned his attention to the children, who ran screaming, and he slew them too." This time, everybody in the room winced at Redford's words, Sir Thomas included. No doubt that was the effect he intended. "After he was done, and his hands and clothes and sword were red with the blood of his victims, he sank to his knees, and for the first time in years, he felt nothing. When a hand was placed upon his shoulder, he looked behind him, and found his Lord standing over him, looking at him with pity in his eyes. And the Lord gestured for Geoffrey to follow, leading him out into the small garden behind the house. There, he pointed to an apple tree, its branches so heavy with fruit that they were bowed almost to the ground.

"The Lord said unto Geoffrey, 'The first day she came to me, your wife explained that on the night of your wedding, you gave her a seed of your wisdom, and she planted it in this garden. When you left, she came out here and prayed to God for your safety, and asked the heavenly father to return you to her. She said that as she prayed, she heard the heavenly father speak into her mind, telling her what needed to be done to right the wrongs in my land. Then the heavenly father caused the tree to grow large overnight, and it bore upon its branches a single fruit. Leanne brought the fruit to me, and told me that it was the seed of wisdom you had given her, and it was her love for you which had caused the heavenly father to make the tree grow. She told me that if I ate the fruit, I would become wiser, so eat it I did, and as I ate, she spoke to me of God's words. The words made sense to me, like no words had before, so I decided to act upon them. Each day she would bring me another of these fruits of wisdom, and tell me of the things the divine father had spoken to her. And all the while, she reminded me of her love for you, and her hope that you would hear of the changes wrought here, and come back from your quest. I found myself a wife, and we are happily wed with three sons, and every day, your Leanne would bring us fruit from the wisdom-tree, so that they would not grow up in ignorance, like their father. In all the years you were gone, she never looked at another man. The children in her home were orphans she took pity on and accepted into her life, hoping that they would help to fill the emptiness left inside her by your absence. And now, Geoffrey of Gateshead, I command you to leave my service. I have left a purse of money on the kitchen table for you to take with you. I would have you executed, but it will not bring back Leanne or the children. They are with God now, and they deserve the peace of heaven. I must return now to the castle, to my wife and sons, and I do not wish to see you in my lands again.'

"Geoffrey knelt down in front of the wisdom-tree, and wept, not for his wife and the orphans, but for himself. The village elder had been right all along. He could not see wisdom, nor could he carry it, nor could he give it to another. He left his home a broken man, and travelled as far as his horse could take him before it died, and then he travelled as far as his own legs could take him. At last he could walk no more, and stopped in a small village. The people there greeted him warmly, and gave him a bowl of hot soup. And as they watched him, one of the young women smiled, and said, 'We're very glad you've come here, elder. You see, our old wise man was taken from us a month ago by a coughing sickness, and we've been without somebody to advise us since then. Would you like to stay with us, and be our wise man?' And because Geoffrey had no walking left in him, he stayed. With no strength to move or hold his sword, with nothing to do except sit and think, he finally found a little wisdom, and when he died the next winter, the people of the village built him a fine pyre and said prayers for his soul, and waited for the next wise man to come along.

"So then, young Richard, what do you think of my story?"

"A fanciful tale. But... it's not true, is it? There's no such thing as wisdom-fruit... is there?" Richard asked, and Sir Thomas smiled. All of Sir Redford's stories were a strange union of truth, parable and make-believe, but sometimes, it was hard to tell which parts were the true ones. There very likely had been a knight named Geoffrey of Gateshead, who'd had a wise wife and been sent off on a quest, but as for the rest of it... only John Redford knew the truth.

"Hmm, I don't know. You tell me! Or better yet, ask your young lady-love about the fruit of the wisdom tree. Who knows, maybe she's one of the lucky few who has seen one!" Sir Redford said with a smile, whilst Richard subjected him to a very skeptical glance.

"Well I for one thought it was a fine story," Eleanor said. "Except all of the slaughtering, of course."

"I particularly liked the moral of the story," said Armus.

"What moral?" asked Cedric. "Don't trust knights? Don't trust women? Don't trust Lords who send you off on a mad quest? Don't trust anybody?"

"Ah, dear Cedric, you'll grow up one day," Armus said, ruffling his younger brother's hair.

Cedric batted Armus' hand away with a scowl. He didn't like being reminded that he was the youngest—Richard and William had taken great pleasure in reminding him of his inexperience in the past. It seemed to sting more when Armus mentioned it, though, because Cedric looked up to his eldest brother more than he did to Richard or William. Sir Thomas suspected that Armus was the only one in the room, other than himself, who had truly understood the moral of the story, and it was only because he knew John Redford so well that he heard the message within the words. John had idolised his wife, and he was under no illusions about who had run both his castle and his lands whilst he had been away in the crusades.

"Do you have any more stories we haven't heard before, Sir Redford?" Eleanor asked.

"Perhaps we shouldn't bother Sir Redford with such frivolous requests," he told his daughter. But Sir Redford gave a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Nonsense, Thomas. I'd be more than happy to tell another story. It's not like there's anybody waiting to listen to me back home, after all. But this next story will be one of my travels to court, and a little less exciting than the adventures of Geoffrey of Gateshead."

"And a little less bloody, I should imagine," said Armus expectantly.

"Unless Sir Redford decides to embellish," said Master Millon said dryly. "Not that he usually commits such a heinous act."

Before Sir Redford could begin his tale, however, Sarah reappeared with a tray full of wine goblets, which she served to everybody in the room. Then she disappeared back to the kitchen, to help the cook prepare dinner.

"This really is an excellent wine, Thomas," said Sir Redford, taking a second sip of his drink.

"It's my last bottle of Château Vessie. Lady Elizabeth's son brought me several bottles as a gift, when he came to visit with his sister," Thomas explained.

"Ahh, Lord Adam and Lady Lenore, isn't it?" asked John, then he nodded to himself, answering his own question. "I recall meeting them several years ago, when they were little more than children. They were very... polite. A little shy, perhaps, but polite. I do recall Adam being quite the poet."

Eleanor sniggered as she sipped her wine, and ended up spluttering and choking, which wasn't improved by Armus' helpful attempt at patting her on the back. It was a surprise he hadn't knocked her to the floor already; sometimes he seemed to forget his own strength.

"I believe you were about to tell us another fanciful tale, Sir Redford?" Richard asked.

"Indeed I was!" John replied. "Tell me, have any of you heard of Gawain of the Greenwood?"

"Only rumours and hear'say," said Sir Thomas. But his children provided a greater source of information than he would have thought.

"I've heard that he single-handedly saved a family from drowning in a flood last year," said Richard.

"I've heard him called 'Bandit's Bane', and that he rescued a group of merchants from being attacked by brigands the year before last," said Armus.

"I've heard that nobody has ever seen him with their own eyes, and that he lives the life of a recluse except when he goes out to save people," Cedric added.

"I've heard that he's a foreign prince, come seeking refuge in England and finding it in the Greenwood," Eleanor said, patting her cheeks to rid them of their colour as she recovered from her coughing fit.

"Then you've heard more than I," said Redford. "Before yesterday, I hadn't heard of him before in my life, but he's certainly made an impression on me."

"You saw him?" Richard asked, leaning forward in his chair.

"You met him?" Cedric echoed.

"Is he as handsome as the women in the village say?" asked Eleanor.

Master Millon gave an amused snort. "We never saw him at all."

"Hush, Samuel," Redford warned. "Whose story is this?"

"Yours, of course, my Lord."

"That's right. Anyway, here is the story. Make of it what you will. On our way home from court, we decided to take a short-cut through the Greenwood, which as you know, is about a day's ride from here. We'd avoided it on the way down to London, because as I'm sure you're aware, it's always been rife with banditry, but as we travelled north, we heard from farmers working their fields along the road that things had much improved in the Greenwood. A saviour had come to the Greenwood they said, though they did not name him, through fear or superstition I do not know. But they swore in God's name that the Greenwood was not only much safer than it once had been, but it was safer and faster than the main road. As you can well imagine, we had our doubts, but we—"

"Ahem," Millon coughed.

"—I decided to take a chance. When the road forked, we took the high one, and soon found ourselves on the edge of the Greenwood. All looked quiet, and to my eyes it seemed that the road had been cleared of obstacles. Where once it had been overrun by weeds and brambles, and had been little more than a river of mud through the woodland, it now seemed a much fairer path. The holes in the road had been filled in with stones, and it seemed that somebody had started putting paving or cobblestones down in places, too. We dithered at the entrance to the woods for a short time, and just as we entered, we heard a rider approach."

"Was it a highwayman?" Eleanor asked eagerly.

"It was no highwayman! In fact, it was a knight, or so he claimed to be. He rode right up to us, as brazen as anything, and halted his horse—and quite a fine horse it was, I can tell you—and declared himself Sir Timothy of Silverdale. He then informed us of what he called 'The Rules of the Greenwood'. The woods, he told us, were now under the protection of Lord Gawain of the Greenwood. Criminals would find no refuge there, and bandits and thieves would be hung without trial as a warning to others. He said that as we were clearly a party of nobles, we could pass through the Greenwood and be assured of our safety for a small contribution towards the upkeep of the woods. He the told us that for a shilling a head—a shilling a head, I tell you!—we could be on our way."

"I hope you declined his offer, John," said Thomas. "That is an outrageous price, and you know it."

"True, true, but I was also curious. It's always been a great failing of mine. So I asked the fellow how one man expected to enforce such a rule on multiple travellers. He then said that he wasn't just one man, and that we were being watched from all around. And you know what, Thomas? I believed him. The trees in that wood are so small and thick, it's so dense with ferns and brambles, that there could have been an entire army hiding in there, and I wouldn't have known. Suddenly, every creak of the trees in the wind I heard sounded like a person moving behind them. And whilst I was sitting there, trying to decide whether to gallop forwards and run through, charge the man and fight through, or turn tail and find the main road, Sir Timothy said 'You have my word, my Lord, that you may pass through unmolested once you have paid the road fee. The Greenwood is no longer a place to be feared by innocent travellers and merchants. Only the wicked should fear this place now.'"

"John, a shilling a head is daylight robbery," Thomas told his friend.

"I know! But I was in a good mood after securing so many new deals earlier, and I was eager for a little excitement, though I'm sure I heard Master Millon call me a terrible name for my decision to pay the knight his fee."

"A trick of the wind, my Lord," said Millon smoothly.

"So I paid the four shillings to this 'Sir Timothy', and he told us to stick to the main road through the woods. There was a tavern at the halfway point, he said, where we could water our horses and buy a refreshing pint of ale, and then he took our money and disappeared on some small path into the forest. I had half a mind to follow him, and meet the mysterious 'Lord Gawain' myself, but I recalled that I had to reach here by noon today, and I didn't want to tarry in case it raised the suspicions of our watchers, if there even were any. We reached the mid-way point after a few hours of riding, and I was expecting to find some dingy little tavern. It was more like an inn, really, with several small but clean rooms available for rent. I got chatting to the innkeeper and he explained that around three years ago, this 'Gawain' had shown up and declared himself Lord of the Greenwood. At first the people had been suspicious, and they laughed at him, because they'd never had a Lord, and felt they didn't need one. But they'd lived rough lives, constantly targeted by criminals who used the Greenwood as a safe-haven to lose their pursuers."

"That all changed when this Gawain arrived, I assume?" asked Sir Thomas. He thought he could see where this was going.

"It did indeed. According to the innkeeper, this Gawain fellow found himself a couple of followers who could carry a sword convincingly, and they went out one night into the forest and came back with two of the bandits. They stripped the men of their possessions, gave what coin they carried back to the people of the village, and then hung them both for all to see. The next night they went out and did it again, and again, until the bandits began to grow fearful. Eventually they realised they were being picked off in small numbers—death by attrition, I suppose—and they moved away from the Greenwood. Now, the innkeeper said, Lord Gawain has an entire army holed up in Greenwood Castle, which he has restored to its former glory, and he extends his protection to the Greenwood in its entirety, claiming the whole land as his own. And I'll tell you something which I'm not ashamed to admit; I was glad to get out of those woods. I felt as if I was being watched the whole time we were inside them, and the wind made a terrible moaning noise as it whistled through the barren trees. The horses were spooking almost as constantly as we were. It seems barely a place for the living."

"Wow," said Cedric, looking impressed. "A whole army, right on our doorstep, and we didn't even know about it."

"It's most likely a wild exaggeration," Richard replied disdainfully. "The Greenwood is not rich enough to support a large population. An army would starve quickly."

"If this 'Lord Gawain' has done all that is claimed, he could be a formidable ally," Armus mused.

"I find it far more likely," Sir Thomas said, "that he himself is one of the bandits, and I suspect that the whole situation is a ploy to make more money by first creating a problem of banditry, then seeming to remove it, thus making a name for himself, and encouraging travellers to use his forest and pay his 'protection' fee."

"That may be so," Sir Redford agreed, "but should you ever have chance to visit the Greenwood, I suggest you do not speak such accusations whilst inside it. The people living there—peasants, woodsmen, hunters and a few farmers, mostly, along with their families—believe that Gawain was sent by the almighty God to deliver them from the bandits who had so plagued their lives. I get the feeling that they'd consider any word spoken against their self-styled Lord a terrible act of blasphemy, and between you and me, I wouldn't like to be on the receiving end of an angry peasant mob."

"I will keep that in mind, my friend," said Sir Thomas. And in the back of his mind, Armus' words echoed back to him. _If this 'Lord Gawain' has done all that is claimed, he could be a formidable ally_. But it was also true that if 'Lord Gawain' was not what was claimed, he could be a formidable enemy. Though the edge Greenwood had always marked the eastern-most boundary of the Grey's land, where it bordered that of his neighbours, Baron John Mullens to the north-east, and Baron Godebert Felstead to the south, he had never truly given it consideration before now. In generations past, its forests had been heavily harvested, and the remaining trees coppiced while young. Now the woods could not provide timber for building, and were too dense to allow farming to take place without the costly venture of first clearing the slender young trees away. As an area of lawlessness that was good only for marking the three boundaries of richer lands, it had largely been ignored by everybody except the sheriff, who knew that if criminals made it to the woods, he would probably never catch them.

Change, it seemed, had come swiftly to the Greenwood, and Sir Thomas now felt a pressing need to discover whether this Lord Gawain was truly what he seemed, or whether he was to become a thorn in the side of the Grey family. Of course, there was only one way to find out for sure, so as Richard began asking Sir Redford about business opportunities at court, Sir Thomas began making plans.

o - o - o - o - o

The next morning found Sir Thomas and Sir Redford seated together in Thomas' private study, adjoining his bedchamber. Randolph, the groom, was preparing the horses for John Redford's entourage, whilst Samuel Millon and the two knights were taking breakfast in the kitchen. For the first time in two weeks, Thomas had spent a whole day without once thinking of Lady Elizabeth, and he had tried to talk Sir Redford into staying longer, but to no avail.

"I truly wish I could stay longer, Thomas," John told him, as he finished off his cup of morning tea. "I can't tell you how much being here has warmed my heart. Those children of yours are a joy to be around. Who would have imagined that Armus would grow to become such an imposing man? And I swear, Cedric looks more and more like his mother every time I see him. I don't mind saying, but I envy you terribly that you still have them here, to see every day, and talk to whenever you please."

"And I envy you," Thomas replied. "To have grandchildren, and be sure in the knowledge that your family will continue even after you are gone... you must be proud of the things your sons and daughter have accomplished."

"Yes, it is nice to see the little ones," John chuckled. "I just wish I could see them more often. Perhaps once I return home, I'll give Samuel greater responsibility, and spend some time visiting with my children. After all, there will be plenty of time for me to sit around discussing business when I'm too infirm to travel."

"May that not be for a great many years," said Thomas.

"Thank you, my friend. But we both know that I have not weathered the storm of time as well as you. When Catherine died, part of me died with her, and since then I feel I've been living as only half a man. Food all tastes the same to me, music does not soothe me as it once did, and when I wake from sleep, I do not feel rested. That, I think, is why I was never able to find another woman to love. I'm very glad that you have Lady Elizabeth. It's not right for a man to be alone. It ages him."

Thomas nodded. He suspected that it was Elizabeth and the children who kept him feeling young; a man could not afford to be old around them, otherwise they would ride roughshod all over him.

"It's a shame I didn't get the opportunity to see William again, before he left for the crusades," John continued. "I won't offer you platitudes; we both know how dangerous the fighting is, in the east. But William is as fine a knight as his father, and if he's half as clever as his father, he'll surround himself with friends and then come home with them once their turn at fighting is done."

"Thank you. There's not a day goes by when William isn't in my thoughts, and every night I pray for his safe return. But I know that it will be many years before I see my son again, and that when he comes home, he will not be the boy I remember, just as Armus was changed by everything that he experienced. Part of me fears most of all that William might not be able to handle it. He does not have the same lightness of heart and gentleness of spirit that Armus possesses, and I fear that the burden of war will weigh too heavily on his young shoulders."

John reached out, and placed his hand on Thomas' shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. "If that is the case, then when he returns, we will help him. Together."

"I cannot tell you how much that eases my concern," he said. Raising children was difficult, especially for a man on his own. He had always thought that children only needed to be raised until they were of marrying age, and that once they became adults, they would be able to handle their own affairs. But the truth of it was, a father never stopped being a father, even when his children could take care of their own physical needs. They still needed advice and guidance, a shoulder to lean on and a hand to help them up when they stumbled.

"I am always glad to help in any way I can. I am afraid, though, that I really must be leaving. I have much to do back home, many deals to seal and many documents to sign."

"I understand," said Sir Thomas. "And I'm grateful that you could spare a day to spend here. The children always enjoy your visits, as do I. Perhaps next time, it will not be as long between our meetings."

"Indeed. You must come and visit me at my home in the near future. We can go hunting during the days, and spend our evenings deep in our cups. Just like old times."

"Just like old times," he agreed with a smile.

Together they left the study, and strolled through the castle until they reached the door to the courtyard. There they found the horses saddled and tied to the tethering rail, the knights checking their girths whilst Master Millon spoke to Armus and Richard, with Eleanor and Cedric looking on from where they were sitting on the side of the well. John smiled when he saw them.

"Have you all come to see us off?" he asked.

"Of course," Armus said. "We couldn't let you leave without giving you a proper farewell."

"The horses are ready for travel, Sir Redford," said one of the knights.

"Very well," John replied. "Mount up, and we shall be on our way.

Whilst the knights and Samuel Millon mounted their horses, Sir Redford turned to the children, who had lined up before him to say their goodbyes.

"It has been good to see you again," Armus told him. "I hope next time, you will stay longer?"

"You have my word," John replied, shaking Armus' hand. Then he turned to Richard. "And you, my lad, take care of that Lady of yours, for I will wish to meet her the next time I am in these parts."

"Of course, Sir Redford. I'd be delighted to introduce you," Richard said, standing a little straighter as Sir Redford shook his hand in farewell.

"And you, Lady Eleanor, keep a wary eye out for young men," Redford smiled warmly. "You look so beautiful in your dresses that I'm surprised they don't come flocking around you like sheep to their shepherd."

"Thank you, Sir Redford," Eleanor replied, allowing herself to be pulled into a light embrace. "Perhaps the next time we meet, I will be married with children, playing the part of a good and quiet wife."

"Oh, I sincerely hope not!" John laughed. "The world has too many quiet wives, if you ask me."

"You really shouldn't encourage her, Sir Redford," Richard said, rolling his eyes. Eleanor stuck her tongue out at him, which made John laugh again.

"And Cedric," said the elderly knight, turning to the youngest son, "I'm sure that with your brothers teaching you, you'll make a fine knight some day. But don't be too eager to take those vows; there is more to life than fighting and knighthood."

"Yes, Sir Redford," Cedric said obediently.

"Very good, very good. And now I shall be off, but I will see you again, you can be sure of that."

"Farewell, my friend," Thomas said, clasping John's arm in friendship. "And safe journey."

He held the reins of Sir Redford's horse as the man mounted up, then stepped back as the horse pranced, eager to be off.

"Safe journey, Sir Redford," said Richard, "and to you as well, Master Millon."

"Thank you for your hospitality, Lord Grey," Millon said to Thomas.

The whole family stepped aside as Sir Redford nudged his horse forward and led the way out of the courtyard. Millon followed just behind, with the two knights bringing up the rear of the tiny procession. They watched until they could no longer hear the sound of hoofbeats on the cobblestones, and only then did they relax.

"I thought Sir Redford was going to faint with shock when he saw Eleanor wearing a dress," said Richard.

"I thought he was going to faint with shock when he saw the size of Armus," said Cedric.

"Something tells me you're planning a trip, Father," said Armus.

"Oh?" Sir Thomas asked, surprised by his son's astute guess. "And what makes you say that?"

"All those questions you were asking of Sir Redford over dinner, regarding trade opportunities at court. You're thinking of travelling there in search of new business, aren't you?"

"Not quite," he smiled. "In fact, I was thinking of travelling to the Greenwood, and meeting this Lord Gawain for myself."

"Might I travel with you, Father?" Elanor asked immediately.

"And me too," said Cedric.

"I wouldn't mind seeing if those rumours about him are true," Richard added.

"Nor would I," said Armus quickly.

"I don't remember any of you ever being so eager to travel with me on business matters," Sir Thomas said. Indeed, usually he had to drag his children with him. Well, perhaps not Richard; he enjoyed accompanying his father on business enterprises.

"I asked first," said Eleanor.

"And I asked second," Cedric replied. "I'm sure father would prefer to leave behind somebody sensible to watch the castle. Somebody like Richard, for instance."

"That's ridiculous," said Richard. "It's been quiet here of late, the castle should be no trouble. But should Lord Gawain prove to be less than honourable, father is going to need a good sword-arm by his side. Neither of you is good with a sword as I am."

"You're not the only one who can wield a sword, Richard," said Eleanor. "Armus is an accomplished swordsman, and with me and my crossbow to back him up, we'd be more than a match for highwaymen."

"Please stop arguing," Sir Thomas said, before any fisticuffs could start. "As Richard said, it's been quiet of late. I'm expecting no guests, and there is nothing that the servants cannot handle for a day or two, under the instruction of the Friar. Anybody who wishes to come with me to the Greenwood, may come. But be warned, I am setting off at first light whether you are ready or not."

"Thank you, father," Eleanor smiled. "I'll be ready and waiting before sun-up."

"I'll be here first," said Cedric.

Sir Thomas sighed and shook his head as his children began arguing again, this time over who would be ready first. As much as he loved his family, sometimes they drove him to madness. It was just a good thing that they kept him young, otherwise he suspected he'd be in an early grave.

* * *

_Author's Note:_ _Big thanks to the three people who've read this story to date. If you like what you've read so far, please encourage your friends to read it. Or better yet, get them to watch Covington Cross on the ol' youtube. This old show will never, I suspect with great sadness, be released on DVD :( So I'm trying to spread the word of its cheesy greatness to as many people as possible._


	3. Lord of the Castle

Gawain of the Greenwood

_3. Lord of the Castle_

The decision of what clothes to wear for a journey had never been one that Eleanor had struggled with, but now she found herself torn. As Lady Elizabeth had instructed her, she weighed up form against function. Because she would be travelling by horseback, and not by carriage, a fine dress and slippers would be highly impractical, especially since she didn't know the terrain of the Greenwood. What if it was muddy? A fine mess she'd look, arriving at Greenwood castle in a mud-spattered dress, her slippers ruined by stirrup irons. Her cotton shirt, leather jerkin and thick trews would be much more practical, especially if there was going to be any hostility. But on the other hand, if the ride through the Greenwood proved to be fair, she might look more appealing if she was wearing a fine dress, than if she was clad in men's clothing.

The simple fact of the matter was, for the the first time in her life, she didn't know what kind of impression she wanted to make. Lord Gawain was an unknown – was he a Lord? A knight? An exiled member of the royal family? A foreigner seeking refuge from political hostility? Or was he simply a runaway page or squire, with delusions of grandeur? Was he, as her father had suggested, just a particularly diabolical brigand, who had the foresight to form long-term plans?

She just didn't know how she wanted to be seen on this occasion, and there were benefits and drawbacks to each side of the argument. By dressing practically for riding and fighting, she would come across as strong and competent, but not particularly fair or feminine. By dressing in favour of form, rather than function, she would appear more beautiful and approachable to a man who would otherwise have thought her odd for her strange dress-sense, but she would sacrifice the ability to ride, run or fight as well as everyone else on the journey. What had started out a few months ago as a desire to look more pleasing for men, who largely ignored her in favour of more traditionally-dressed women, had now turned into a full-blown identity crisis as she tried to work out where she belonged in the world.

It all seemed so clear with Lady Elizabeth around, to speak to of such things. Elizabeth told her of ways to attract men's attentions without seeming entirely helpless. She gave Eleanor tips on how to move and speak to encourage men to behave in certain ways, but it wasn't always easy for her to take the lessons to heart. By the time most girls were Eleanor's age, they were already married or at least courting, yet Eleanor still struggled to attract men, much less keep them interested. Her one real tryst had been with a man who loved that she was strong and independent and a match for him; he did not seek to master her, or keep her simply to produce heirs, but he had been a wanted highwayman, a charming thief who stole from the rich and gave a small amount back to the poor to justify his criminal lifestyle. For a brief time, Eleanor had been swept along by the charismatic man, and had lain with him beneath the stars. It was he who had awakened her womanly desires, and now that she had been intimate with a man, she understood why so many women pampered and preened themselves, and vied for the attentions of the most desirable men.

But Eleanor had been spoiled, and she knew it. She had grown up the daughter of a very honourable Lord and knight, with three knights for brothers. She had been given a good education and taught from a young age to be respectful yet not suffer fools. Unfortunately, when she looked around at the sons of wealthy merchants and barons and lords, she saw many fools. She saw pride that had grown into arrogance, and haughtiness that bordered on ignorance. But more than that, she saw men who already knew what type of woman they were looking for to be their wives. Most of time, they did not consider the ability to hunt and fight to be positive attributes in a woman. Lady Elizabeth said it was because men needed to feel that they were stronger and cleverer than women, otherwise what purpose did they have? The way Elizabeth explained it, a man did not like his wife to be good at the things he was good at, because that took the attention away from him, and forced him to relinquish his responsibilities as a provider and protector.

Eleanor knew she was resigned to one of three fates. The first, she must either change and become more womanly, hiding her outgoing nature behind demure smiles and pleasing dresses, or risk remaining husband-less for the rest of her life. Second, she could continue being her usual self, and hope that somehow, somewhere, there was a man strong enough and sure enough of himself to accept her as his wife without trying to change her. Or third, she could forget about men and marriage altogether and do as she pleased, even if that meant being alone and having nobody to love and share her life with.

With a deep sigh, she turned to her wardrobe and took out her best cotton shirt, clean leather jerkin and tailored blue cotton riding trews. She could not for the sake of mere vanity justify wearing a dress whilst travelling into an unknown area. Lord Gawain would just have to accept her as she was. Besides, there was no guarantee that he would turn out to be a handsome and noble man. For all she knew he was a gap-toothed brigand, and whilst she didn't like to judge people on appearances alone, she didn't want to encourage the wrong _type_ of man.

She pulled her clothes on over her undergarments, and then fastened a long auburn cloak around her shoulders. She stopped in front of her mirror and looked at her reflection, checking that her braid was still fastened tightly, and making sure her cloak was sitting square. She looked... efficient. Capable. Not at all womanly. But there was nothing she could do about it now. Her mind was made up, and she refused to be one of those women who changed her opinion from one moment to the next. Besides, if she intended to be first down to the courtyard, she didn't have time to change again. The sun would soon be rising.

She left her bedroom and almost ran into Sarah, making the serving woman jump in fright.

"I'm so sorry, Eleanor," Sarah said, holding a hand over her heart, "I should have been looking where I was going."

"It was my fault," Eleanor replied graciously. "I was in such a hurry to get down to the courtyard that I ran right into you."

"Do you think you'll be gone long?"

"Only a couple of days, father says. Though I suppose it depends on what happens when we find Lord Gawain."

"Ooh, I don't envy you, Eleanor," Sarah cooed. "Travelling to that spooky Greenwood and not knowing what kind of reception you'll receive. You _will_ be careful, won't you? And look after those brothers of yours... you know what men can be like!"

"Of course, Sarah," Eleanor smiled. "Somebody has to keep them out of trouble. That's why I'm going along. But I really must be on my way now, otherwise I risk being left behind."

"Safe journey to you," Sarah said.

Eleanor left the servant and hurried down the stairs, down the hallway to the courtyard door. When she opened it and stood at the top of the steps, she found four horses saddled and tethered, with Randolph checking their shoes for loose nails. In the dim light of the breaking dawn, she clearly made out her own horse, Damascus; he was the only all-black horse in the stable, and he whickered in greeting when he saw her, his ears pricking up as she descended the steps.

"Told you I'd be first here," Cedric grinned, stepping out from behind his own horse. He was wearing his best black riding trousers, along with a white shirt and black jerkin, and black riding gloves to match. His long, silvery-grey cloak flowed behind him as he moved, coming just short of the ground.

"How did you manage to be the first one out here?" Eleanor demanded. Cedric was _never_ first up in the mornings!

His smile grew. "Last night I hid one of Richard's riding gloves. I also told the cook that Armus would really appreciate a hearty breakfast before leaving… I think he's still in the kitchen, eating."

"That is sneaky and underhanded," she informed him.

"You wound me most grievously, dear sister. I am merely evening the battlefield. As I recall, Richard wanted to leave _you_ behind, as well as me."

"That is a very good point," she conceded. Richard could be selfish that way, sometimes. "So where did you hide his riding glove?"

"In the privy chamber, of course. The very last place he'll think of looking for his missing glove."

"You are absolutely wicked, Cedric," she said, fighting back the smile. It seemed Richard would be riding with his second favourite pair of gloves, until the servants could find his missing one.

"I know." He rubbed the nose of his horse, which rubbed its head against him in response. Cedric's horse, Mercury, was a black palfrey with white stockings, older brother to Damascus, though from a different dam. And though he lacked Damascus' speed and spirit, he was much kinder to his rider, with a sweet disposition. Next to Mercury, Armus' solidly-built bay courser, Thunder, pricked up his ears and tried to move closer to get his share of attention. On the other side of Thunder, Richard's chestnut rouncey, inventively named Copper, ignored everything around him. Eleanor had never met a more miserly horse, and thought that he suited his owner quite well.

"Eleanor? Cedric?" Sir Thomas appeared from the stable, leading out his white destrier, Cloud, by the reins. "_You're_ the first ones out here?"

"I guess we're just the most eager to be setting off, Father," Cedric said, winking at Eleanor. "It is sunrise, after all. Should we be going?"

"Yes, yes, mount up," their father said, checking his own horse's girth. "We'll give them a few minutes, but then we'll have to leave."

Eleanor untethered Damascus, and Cedric held her stirrup for her whilst she mounted. Her horse immediately began to prance, but she settled him with a gentle check on the reins. He was young and excitable, and still required much training, but he was much better now than he had been a few months ago. Back then he would have reared as soon as she mounted him. To her right, Cedric climbed atop Mercury, and steered him away from the tethering rail, walking him around the courtyard to warm him whilst they waited. After a moment Eleanor joined him, with Damascus quickly settling down once he was beside another horse.

Just as their father was beginning to look impatient, Armus appeared from the kitchen door, swallowing a mouthful of food. His clothes were quite plain, with his loose-fitting green shirt belted around around his waist, and his long brown cloak trailing behind him. Ever since returning from the crusades, he had tried to distance himself from the life of a knight. He no longer chose to wore armour unless he had to, and enjoyed dressing for comfort rather than show. But then, Armus was such a large man that he didn't _have_ to wear flashy clothes to be noticed. He had a quietly commanding presence that most people respected immediately, and because he lacked false airs and graces, his genuine, down to earth nature came across right away. Eleanor didn't know _anybody_ who didn't like Armus.

"I'm sorry if I've delayed you, father," Armus said. "I was just finishing breakfast. Who knows when we'll next get a chance to eat?"

"Have you seen your brother anywhere?" father asked.

"Richard? No." Armus frowned. "I thought for sure he'd be out here, ready to berate me for keeping us."

"Maybe he's over-slept," Cedric offered innocently, and Eleanor fought back a smile.

"It's not like Richard to over-sleep," father replied. "Not unless he's ill."

At that moment, Richard came out of the door at the top of the steps, looking flushed about the face. His brown hair was messy, as if he hadn't had time to brush it yet, and Eleanor noticed a pair of brown gloves sticking out of his pocket. They did not match his dark blue shirt, blue trews and black jerkin, nor his long blue riding cloak, which probably explained why he had hunted so long for his black gloves. Richard could be terribly vain at times.

"Richard, are you well?" father asked, looking concerned.

"I am fine," Richard said curtly. "I seem to have misplaced one of my riding gloves, and had to find a second pair. But I'm here now, and ready to go."

"Good. Then mount up so we can leave. You too, Armus."

As she watched her two older brothers approach their horses, Cedric nudged her arm with his elbow, and nodded at Richard. _Oh no_, she thought, and wondered if she should warn him. But it was too late; he put his foot in the stirrup and grasped the pommel of his saddle, stepping upwards. As Armus mounted his horse successfully, the saddle of Richard's horse slipped around and deposited him on the floor. Cedric burst out laughing, and Eleanor lifted her hand to her mouth to hide her smile.

"Looks like your horse was blowing out whilst he was being saddled," Cedric said helpfully. "You know, you really should check your girth before mounting."

"You loosened it!" Richard glowered, picking himself up off the floor.

"I did no such thing!" Cedric protested, his best innocent expression painted on his face.

"You've done it before. Or have you forgotten the time when William and I were to accompany father to see the king?"

"Do you really think I'd do it a second time?" Cedric asked. "Why would I do something so obvious?"

"Richard, we don't have time for this," said their father. "Re-saddle your horse and mount, or you'll be staying behind to look after the castle."

With his face like thunder, Richard removed Copper's saddle and then put it in its proper position on the horse's back. After fastening the girth and checking it twice, he mounted and brought his horse around to face the others, giving Cedric one last scowl before allowing his features to smooth.

"I hope you all have everything you need," said Sir Thomas. "We shan't be coming back for anything that you've forgotten."

Eleanor looked around at her brothers. Checking over them was second-nature to her now; sometimes she felt she had to mother them because nobody else would. Each one was wearing his sword, whilst Eleanor's crossbow was fastened to the front of her saddle, with a quarrel of bolts in one of her saddle-bags. It wasn't an easy weapon to fire from horseback, but if necessary she could dismount to use it.

There was a general consensus that yes, they all had everything they needed. Sir Thomas brought Cloud around to the courtyard gates, and led the way out just as the sun was truly cresting the horizon. Once they had cleared the castle grounds, he pushed for a trot, and both Damascus and Mercury settled into the four-beat amble stride common to all palfreys, whilst the other three horses maintained a more bouncing trot. Eleanor could tell her father wanted to make an impression; he was wearing his finest riding clothes covered by his best green and gold embroidered cloak.

The fields around Covington Cross were quiet, but Eleanor knew it wouldn't be too long before the farmers would be out, hitching their oxen to their ploughs, preparing for another hard day's work in the fields. Sometimes she felt sympathy for them, because they led such difficult lives, but other than making sure they were paid a decent price for their crops, and that they were protected from brigands, there was little she could do to alter their situation. The sad fact was, _somebody_ had to work the fields, and for anybody not lucky enough to be born to nobility, or skilled enough to learn a craft, there was little other option than to become a farmer. Farmers played a very important role; without them, there would be no grain and wheat produced, no livestock reared, no hay cut as fodder. There would be mass starvation if the world ever ran out of farmers. That was why the Black Death was such a dangerous sickness; it claimed not only nobles, like Eleanor's mother, but also the country's workers. Luckily, the Black Death had not been overly prevalent in the shire; it had largely passed by the Grey's land, leaving the villagers unscathed.

The sun rose gradually through the morning, but by midday it was obscured by heavy grey clouds which completely filled the sky. For an hour after noon they travelled in the gloom, and then, without warning, the heavens opened and a slew of water fell from the heavens with tremendous force. Damascus spooked at the sudden onset and noise of the rain, and reared up before Eleanor could calm him. She gently tugged on the left rein and then the right, asking her horse to slow and settle. He responded by arching his neck and lowering his head, relaxing once he saw that the other horses were staying calm, but he did start snorting and breathing heavily, a sign that he had been truly frightened. It was the disadvantage that came with riding such a young and inexperienced horse.

"Should we find shelter?" Richard shouted out, to make himself heard above the sound of the rainfall. His brown hair was plastered to his head, and water ran down his face.

Sir Thomas shook his head, slowing his horse to a walk so that it would not lose its footing on the increasingly muddy ground. "No, we're already soaked to the skin, there's no point in sheltering now. Besides, judging from the colour of the sky, I'd say this rain isn't going to stop any time soon. The sooner we reach the Greenwood, the sooner we reach shelter."

"Shelter or an ambush," Cedric added.

"Are you regretting your decision to come now, little brother?" asked Richard.

"A bit of water never killed anyone."

"But a lot of water did," Armus chimed in.

"You know, it's rather fortuitous that I mislaid one of my gloves. I'd hate for my best pair to have gotten wet," Richard gloated. Cedric gave him a half-hearted glare, and moved his horse out to the side so that he wouldn't be splashed by the mud churned up by Copper's hooves.

For three hours they rode in silence, each one lost in their own private misery. Eleanor was colder than she could ever remember being before; the rain had soaked right through the hood of her cloak, poured down her neck, and wet every single layer of clothes she was wearing. It even managed to get down into her boots, soaking her socks and causing her toes to go numb with cold. She had half a mind to dismount and walk, if only to warm herself up, but she gave up that idea when she realised that her wet clothes would probably chafe her terribly. All she could do was hunch herself in her saddle and wiggle her fingers and toes, trying to work some feeling back into them without disturbing Damascus too much.

The rain finally began to slow, decreasing to a light drizzle, then a fine mist, and eventually stopping altogether. Eleanor felt just terrible; she was cold, wet all over, and trying desperately not to shiver in case it spooked her horse again. When she looked at her family, she saw that they weren't much better. Cedric had put his reins into his left hand, holding his cloak wrapped around himself with his right hand, and she felt a pang of envy. She wished she could do that too, but Damascus was not as well-behaved as Mercury; she needed to keep both hands on the reins in case her horse spooked, reared or bolted.

Armus had pulled up his hood, but it had molded itself to the shape of his head, and she could tell just by looking at it that it was as soaked as the rest of him, and was only pulled up to keep his ears a little warmer. Richard's coat lacked a hood, so his curly hair had been plastered smooth to his head by the rain, and was starting to curl again as it slowly dried out. His face was pale, but he was still managing to sit up straight and do his best to ignore the cold. Meanwhile, father looked as soaked as any of them, but he still kept his attention on the road, occasionally glancing aside to the fields and woods as he kept an eye open for danger.

A couple of hours before nightfall, just as Eleanor was beginning to think that the dreadful day would never end, her father halted Cloud, and everybody else fell in beside him. Up ahead was a thick forest of small trees and coppices, into which the road led. Even though the trees of the woods were bare, it still seemed... darker, somehow. Not at all like the light and airy forests in which she and her brothers hunted.

"Why do they call it the Greenwood?" she asked. "It doesn't look particularly green to me."

"In days of yore, it used to be called Oakwood," Armus explained, as everyone else listened. He was very learned about historical matters, and nobody thought of questioning his knowledge. "Then, when the Norman conquest began, and they started building their great timber castles, the great oak trees which gave the wood its name were cut down, to be used in construction. Their acorns were never replanted, and the woods was left to grow wild. The local people relied heavily upon it for firewood, and they took so much that it never fully recovered. Because there were no oak left, the name 'Oakwood' seemed a little redundant, so it was changed to Greenwood."

"It's such a shame that the oak trees never grew back."

"Yes," her father agreed. "But there is a lesson here for us. Those who are greedy and take everything, are eventually left with nothing."

"What is Greenwood castle like?"

"I don't know, I've never been there."

They all turned to look at Armus, who spoke up again. "From what little I've read about it, it's a small stone fortress, about half the size of Covington Cross, if not a bit smaller. Originally it was inhabited by the Hawes family, but it fell into disrepair when the last of the Hawes died, about a hundred years ago. I also read that it's allegedly haunted by the ghosts of the family, and that's why no noble ever claimed it as their own."

"What if the Hawes family never died out?" Richard said, looking at the Greenwood with a thoughtful expression in his eyes. "What if Lord Gawain is a surviving member?"

"Then we may have a problem," father said. "If the Hawes family once owned land here, they may still hold deeds for it. The Greenwood did used to encompass much more land than it currently does."

Eleanor looked back at the fields they had just travelled through. "You mean our land might really belong to somebody else?"

"It's possible, but I don't think we should jump to any conclusions just yet. It's just as likely that Lord Gawain is nothing but a common criminal with ambitions above his station."

"Should we... you know... sally forth?" Cedric asked, gesturing to the woods.

"We _have_ come this far," Armus said. "If there's bad news waiting for us up ahead, we're better off learning about it now rather than later."

"Very true. And yes, by all means, we're continuing," father said with confidence. "I don't know what sort of reception may be waiting for us. I don't even know if Lord Gawain really exists. All we've heard are rumours, but we've come to learn the truth, and we won't learn it standing around here and freezing to death."

When Sir Thomas walked his horse on, Richard and Armus fell in behind him, flanking him on either side. As the entrance to the woods grew closer, Eleanor moved Damascus a little closer to Mercury. Not that she was scared, of course. There was nothing scary about a forest. She'd been in plenty of forests before. It was just that Damascus had been a little spooked with all the rain, it would do him good to have his older, more sensible brother close by. And when Cedric didn't try to put any distance between them, she gave him a grateful smile.

As they entered the forest, everything seemed to become much more closed in. The branches of the trees lining the road arched over it, twigs snagging her hair, grasping at her like clawed fingers. Armus had it much worse, not only because he was taller, but also because he was riding a taller horse. He had to bend his shoulders forward to avoid the high branches of the coppiced trees, and remained like that until the trees became a little taller, and there was less chance of him being poked in the eye by a stray branch. All around them, the woods were silent, and the air was still. The snorting of the horses, and the sound of their hoofbeats, seemed unnaturally loud, and without reason Eleanor took to holding her breath, only exhaling when she needed to draw more air. It was as if the entire forest was watching and waiting, observing them, just to see what they would do next.

From the road ahead there came the sound of hoofbeats, and she halted Damascus when father reined in Cloud. Small movements caught her eye, and she saw both Richard and Armus place their reins in their left hands and their right hands on the pommels of their swords. Cedric quickly mimicked their position, but Eleanor did not yet pick up her crossbow. Her father had not made any move to arm himself or appear threatening, and she decided to follow his lead. But still, her nerves began to grow with the increasing volume of the hoofbeats, and she felt Damascus shifting beneath her as he picked up on her tension. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to relax, and stopped gripping his barrel so tightly with her legs. When she relaxed, so did he, settling down and pricking his ears as he heard the horse in the distance approach.

When horse and rider came into sight, it turned out to be a man clad in a shirt of bright maille, and riding an impressive chestnut courser. A sword was sheathed at his hip, but he bore no other weapon, and the fact that his clothes were dry and his horse barely muddy betrayed the fact that he had not long been outdoors. He halted his horse on the path before them, the space of three horses distance away from the family, and lowered his hood. Cool grey eyes looked out from the face, taking in the appearance of the small group. The man was bearded, and he had a long-healed scar running down one cheek, but otherwise he was unremarkable. Eleanor could only estimate his age at around thirty-five or forty, and she noticed that he carried himself in the same way as Richard; straight-backed, proud, and confident.

"Beware, travellers," he said, his voice deep and gravelly, "for you have entered the Greenwood. This place, which was once a haven for criminals, now has a protector. If you are pure of heart, without malicious intent, you may pass through the forest safely for a small fee. If there is evil or wickedness in your heart, turn back now, for we will tolerate criminals in the Greenwood no longer."

Father nudged Cloud forward with his legs, and the grey horse took a few steps forward. Richard and Armus remained where they were, waiting for provocation or further instruction.

"I am Sir Thomas Grey, of Covington Cross," father said. "With whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?"

"I am Sir Timothy of Silverdale."

"And you are this forest's protector?"

"I am but a humble knight, in service to Lord Gawain of the Greenwood. It is he who protects the forest."

"And yet he sends you to collect his protection fees?"

"The Lord Gawain is a busy man," Sir Timothy said, showing no sign of irritation. If he was merely _acting_ a knight, he was doing a very good job. Eleanor glanced around, at the forest on either side of the road. Sir Redford had said that Timothy claimed to have an army, or at least people watching the road. Was it possible there were men hiding amongst the trees even now? Did they have arrows trained on the entire Grey family? If they felt threatened, who would they shoot at first?

"What fee are we required to pay, if we wish to pass through the Greenwood?" father asked.

"For nobles, the fee is one shilling per head."

"Don't you think that price is a little steep?"

"What I think is irrelevant. It is the price Lord Gawain has set, so it is the price I will collect." Good lord, this knight could give Richard a run for his money! "If your purse is not deep enough to cover the price of passage, you may take the main road around the Greenwood instead. It is twice as long, but incurs no fee."

Eleanor held her breath as her father contemplated his reply. She could not see his face, but she knew he was choosing his words carefully.

"I will pay your fee," he said at last, and Eleanor let out the breath. "But I have business with Lord Gawain. I will pay five shillings, but I will place the money in his hand myself."

"You doubt the word of a fellow knight?" Sir Timothy asked, again with no outward sign of emotion.

"I doubt the word of a man who claims to be unlawfully collecting a tax on behalf of a man who has no right to impose such a cost on travellers," father countered. "If Lord Gawain truly does exist, then I will pay his fee before discussing my business with him. If he doesn't exist, then I will simply pay my fee to you, and be on my way. Which is it to be, Sir Timothy?"

The knight fell silent, watching father as he considered the words. It was a brave thing for her father to have done, calling Sir Timothy's bluff, and she suspected that nobody had ever made such a request before. Again, she looked around at the forest, hoping to catch some glimpse of another human face. But there was nothing out there except trees, made more threatening by her over-active imagination.

"Very well," Sir Timothy said at last. "I will take you to see Lord Gawain, but he will not be pleased by your insolence. You have come here unannounced, and without invitation. Lord Gawain is not a man who likes surprises, Sir Thomas, and you would do well to remember that in your dealings with him."

The knight turned his horse and set off at a walk along the road. Father briefly turned in his saddle to glance reassuringly at his children, then encouraged Cloud to follow Sir Timothy's horse. For a few moments they rode in uncomfortable silence, but at last Armus' natural curiosity got the better of him.

"Do you get many travellers coming through the Greenwood, Sir Timothy?" he asked.

"More and more, with each passing week," the knight replied in a monotone. Then, he offered some information in return. "Mostly it is merchants who come through, after they hear word that the Greenwood is safe for them to use. Often it shaves almost a day off their journey time."

"I find it hard to believe that merchants would pay a shilling a head, just to save a day's travel," Richard spoke up.

"They don't. Merchants pay tuppence a head."

"What about the men and women who can't afford to spare any money for passage?" Eleanor asked, thinking of farmers and labourers.

"Commoners can pass through freely."

"For how long have you lived in the Greenwood, Sir Timothy?" father asked. Eleanor knew what he was doing; he was trying to engage the knight in personal talk, to get him to open up a little. "You don't have the sound of a local man upon your tongue."

"I've lived here for almost two years now," said Timothy. "And you are correct. I am not a local."

"Whereabouts is Silverdale?" Cedric asked. "I've never even heard of it before."

"It is an area on the north-west coast of England, just south of Cumbria."

"Near Lancaster?" Armus asked.

"Not far from there."

"If you don't mind my asking," father said, increasing Cloud's pace a little, so that he was almost side-by-side with Sir Timothy, "how did you come to end up here?"

The knight sighed, the first indication that he was actually bothered by something. And judging by the way he had so casually turned his back on five armed strangers, not much bothered him at all.

"Whilst in service to my liege-Lord I often travelled north, to battle the Celts," Timothy explained patiently. "After one such campaign I returned home to find my wife and son dead, murdered by brigands who stole everything of value, even daring to take the wedding ring from the hand of my dead wife. I swore vengeance, and my Lord released me from my vows, so that I could hunt down the men who had stolen the lives of my wife and son."

"I am so sorry," father said. There was genuine compassion in his voice when he spoke, and Eleanor knew he wasn't offering false consolation. He, too, knew what it was to lose a wife. But to have a wife and child murdered was very different to having a wife taken ill by the plague. "I hope the men responsible received the justice they deserved."

"I killed them, yes," said Sir Timothy, his grey eyes cold and empty. "But it was not enough. I vowed that I would not rest until I had rid the land of all such filth. I travelled for several months, hiring out my services to merchants, knowing that murderers and thieves would be drawn to them. The first time I was paid to escort a merchant through the Greenwood, we were attacked by a large group of brigands. They were illiterate thugs, a group of criminals who banded together for strength of numbers, rather than through any concept of loyalty, but there were enough of them to cause me worry. Just when the fighting was at its thickest, Lord Gawain arrived, with two of his men. Fine warriors all, and together we killed half of the murderous scum, and drove off the rest. Lord Gawain told me that he was impressed with my skill and determination. He told me to return to the Greenwood if I wanted to put my skills to better use, and truly make a difference. After I had finished escorting the merchant wagons, I returned here, and have remained ever since."

"So how exactly is demanding money from travellers 'truly making a difference'?" Cedric asked.

"It is but one of my many duties," Sir Timothy replied. If he was offended by Cedric's implication that he himself was committing extortion, he showed no sign of it. "This way," he said, and gestured to the higher path where the road forked. Up a steep, densely forrested hill he led them, and then across a river that had a somewhat newly constructed wooden bridge built over it. Wheel ruts in the partially dirt road proved that the bridge saw use, though whether by farmers or by merchants, she could not guess.

Looking to her left, she found a steep escarpment, and some distance below, snaking off into the woods, was the main road, and further along it she saw a plume of smoke rising from the trees. Any traveller on the road was clearly visible from up here, and she wondered if that was how the Lord Gawain kept tabs on travellers through his domain. It would certainly explain why Sir Redford had felt watched on his journey.

"What is that?" Eleanor asked, pointing to the plume of smoke in the distance.

"The Stop and Rest," said Sir Timothy. "A tavern used mainly by travellers. It marks the point midway through the forest."

"He's not the conversational type, is he?" Cedric whispered to her.

"I doubt you would be either, if your wife and son had been murdered by brigands," she whispered back.

Not long after crossing the bridge, the road began to descend, and Eleanor's concentration was taken up by riding. Though the ground was muddy with the recent downpour, large stones had been set into the earth at regular intervals. It seemed that this entire road was slowly being cobbled, but for now, the intermittent stones were enough to give Damascus purchase on the slippery ground. She loosened her reins and gave him his head, allowing him to better balance himself. And when at last the road evened out, she found the forest receding around her, and a group of small wattle and daub houses on either side of the road ahead. The roofs of the houses were thick straw thatch, lain over a sturdy wicker frame, and the walls of the houses were whitewashed, to increase their resistance to rain. And though the ground in and around the village was muddy, large stones had been placed in front of the doors, to prevent mud being tracked inside. Beside each house was a pile of firewood, covered by a thatch awning, and most of the houses also had chicken coops against them, again covered by awnings, with a number of the fowl caged inside.

Men, women and children were at work in the village, the men carrying wood or stones or burlap bags, whilst the women went about more domestic tasks; skinning animal hides, de-scaling fish and smoking meat on covered racks over fires. There was a strong smell of herbs in the air; lavender, Eleanor thought, and possibly rosemary or thyme. Children ran to and fro, either at play or fetching things for their mothers and fathers, whilst some fed crumbs and scraps to the chickens cooped up. Almost all of the people in the village wore wooden-soled clogs, and the women and girl-children wore skirts that came just below the knees, which did not trail on the muddy ground. Wherever a woman was kneeling down on the earth to work at a fire or scrape a hide, she knelt on a thick straw mat, to protect her from the mud.

The Grey family drew some curious glances from the villagers, especially Eleanor, who wasn't dressed as a woman would normally dress. But mostly the men and women went about their business without stopping to gawk, leaving only the youngest children to run up to the party, laughing and brandishing wooden swords sized for them. Three boys, two of them carrying the wooden play-swords, and one holding a loosely strung child's bow, ran towards Richard, taking care to avoid Copper's legs, keeping pace easily with the horse.

"'Scuse me sir, are yew a knight?" one of the boys asked.

"That's right," Richard said, running his eyes over the children's muddy shoes.

"I'm gonner be a knight when I grow up. Me mam said I could be."

"Liam, you get over 'ere right now!" a scowling woman called to the boy from the doorway of her house.

"Better do as she says," Richard told the boy. "All good knights listen to their mothers."

"I'll make a good knight, 'cos I always do what me mam says," Liam grinned. "I 'ave to take care of her 'cos me dad died last winter. That makes me the man of the house!"

"Go on back to your mother, Liam," said Sir Timothy. "And remember what I said about talking to strangers on the road."

"Yes Sir Timothy," said Liam, running off with the other boys in tow.

"How did his father die?" Sir Thomas asked.

"He was injured trying to protect his family from bandits," Sir Timothy explained. "The wound became infected, and his blood turned poisonous."

"I've seen such things before, in the crusades," Armus said. "Even the most innocent-looking of wounds can become infected. When gangrene sets in, the only option available is to amputate the injured limb. Or, if the injury is on the body, cut out all of the infected flesh before the infection can reach the main veins and arteries. If that happens, death is slow and painful."

Eleanor closed her eyes and held a hand to her head, feeling nauseous at the thought of a person's flesh being cut out of their body. When she opened her eyes again, she saw Richard and Cedric also looking pale, though father and Sir Timothy did not seem to be affected by Armus' words. No doubt they had seen much worse, in battle.

A short distance away from the village, the road ended, and Eleanor saw a small stone castle almost completely surrounded by trees which were pressing right up to its walls. Atop the highest tower of the castle a flag was suspended from a pole, and it displayed a green tree on a white background, with a black diagonal line behind it. It was not a coat or symbol she had ever seen before, and she guessed it to be that of Lord Gawain. The castle itself was not unlike Covington Cross, though obviously smaller. It seemed well-built for defence, and though it lacked a moat it possessed high walls with crenellations and murder-holes, and a portcullis to be lowered down over the main gate of the curtain wall. Sir Timothy led them through a narrow barbican, above which was a small guard guardhouse, and then into the courtyard proper. In one corner of the courtyard was a stable, inside which Eleanor could hear more than one horse whinnying.

Instead of riding towards the stables, Sir Timothy turned and approached the main double door of the castle, which was raised upon three narrow steps. It was then that she saw two people waiting; the first was a man, as tall as Armus and almost as wide. His hair was dark auburn in colour, and fell to just below his ears. He wore a neat, thick beard which was the same shade as his hair, and his face was sprinkled quite liberally with freckles. The clothes he wore were of a fine cut, though not particularly opulent; plain dark grey trousers, polished black boots, and a white shirt that had small buttons running up the front, but no embroidery to embellish it. A sword was belted at his hip, and one of his hands rested casually on the pommel. Her first impression of him was coloured by the fact that he resembled her eldest brother in size, but she did not forget what Sir Timothy had told them; that Lord Gawain would not be pleased by their unannounced visit, and that he had publically executed thieves without trial. The knight had not made his master sound a pleasant man.

The second person waiting at the bottom of the steps was a woman, standing a pace or two behind the man and dwarfed by him. Her clothes mirrored his, in some ways; her green and white dress was rather plain, with minimal detail on the bodice. Around her shoulders, tucked over her arms, was a green shawl, which she held closed against the chilly air. But that was where her resemblance to the man ended; her long light-brown hair was left loose, and fell to the middle of her back. Her face held lingering traces of a tan, and was free of freckles. And where the eyes of the man were brown, like the colour of aged oak, the eyes of the woman were blue, the shade of the summer sky or light sapphires.

Sir Timothy dismounted, and when Sir Thomas followed suit, so did Eleanor, and her brothers. It was only after she had gotten out of the saddle that she realised just how cold and wet she truly was. Her limbs were stiff and her muscles aching from being clenched against the damp, and her clothes chafed against her numb skin. She still could not feel the ends of her fingers and toes, and her nose and cheeks felt pinched and tight. She stepped forward with Cedric, to stand on her father's left, whilst Armus and Richard stood to his right.

"Lord Gawain," Sir Timothy said, stepping forward. "This is Sir Thomas Grey, of Covington Cross. He claims to have business with you, and would not pay the fee to pass through the forest until I brought him to see you."

"I am pleased to meet you, Sir Thomas Grey," said Lord Gawain, stepping forward and offering his hand. His voice was rich, and had an almost musical quality to it that was quite pleasing to the ears.

"And I you, Lord Gawain," father replied, shaking the man's hand. "I apologise for arriving unannounced."

"Think nothing of it," said Lord Gawain, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "And now, if you are happy that I am real, and not just some invention of an overactive mind, perhaps you would consent to paying the fee for travelling through the forest. As you have no doubt seen in the village, we have many hungry mouths to feed, and precious few resources of our own."

Eleanor watched as father took out his purse and counted out five shillings, offering them to the tall young man. Lord Gawain took the coins and then handed them over to Sir Timothy without even giving them a second glance.

"These must be your children," Lord Gawain said, looking over each of them in turn. "Armus, Richard, Cedric, and Lady Eleanor, if I recall correctly."

"And you know this how?" father asked, sounding suspicious.

"I make a habit of knowing my neighbours, even when they do not know me. It is a shame Lady Elizabeth Leyland is away in France; I would have liked to meet her as well. By all accounts, she is a lovely woman."

Eleanor was shocked by his words. That a stranger knew about their family life was more than a little disturbing, especially since she knew nothing about him. And what was even more curious was that he had given Eleanor only the same glance-over that he had given her brothers. Most men, when meeting her for the first time, remarked upon her strange way of dressing, and expressed surprise or humour over it. Lord Gawain did not even seem to notice that she was clothed as a man. Had he known in advance that she would be dressed thus? Or was he one of those few men who did not care how a woman dressed?

He turned his upper body and gestured to the woman standing behind him. "My cousin, Lady Gwendolyn."

"A pleasure to meet you, my Lords and Lady," Gwendolyn said, in a sweet voice. There was a hint of an accent upon her words that Eleanor couldn't quite place. The woman offered a deep curtsy, the skirt of her dress fanning out around her as she dropped low.

"The pleasure is entirely ours," Cedric said. When Eleanor glanced up at her younger brother she saw a familiar smile on his face, and shook her head. Lady Gwendolyn was young and quite beautiful, so of course Cedric was going to fall for her, just as he fell for every other young and beautiful woman he chanced across.

"Please forgive my poor manners," said Lord Gawain, showing no sign of having noticed Cedric's attraction to his cousin. "You must have ridden all day to reach here, even through the terrible rain that fell earlier. Will you come into the castle, and warm yourselves by the fire?"

"We would be most grateful for that," father said appreciatively. "We were soaked to the skin on the journey here."

"Sir Timothy, please would you ask Paul to see to the Greys' horses?"

"Of course, my Lord," the knight replied, and led his horse into the stable.

"If you and your family would like to follow me, Sir Thomas?" Lord Gawain said, and turned to lead them up the steps to the castle door. "I'm afraid you will find our home rather austere; the castle is old and draughty, and we are still in the process of restoring it to its former glory. But we will offer you what comfort we can."

"Thank you for your generosity, Lord Gawain," her father said.

Eleanor fell in beside Richard, just behind Armus, as the Lord led them into his castle, leaving Cedric to loiter as close as he could manage to Lady Gwendolyn. Glancing back, Eleanor saw the lady fixing her gaze ahead, trying her best to ignore the youngest Grey, and she smiled to herself. Cedric would not give up quite so easily. She just hoped that he wouldn't make a nuisance of himself.

The inside of Greenwood Castle was not as light nor as warm as Covington Cross, partly because the castle was older, built with more primitive techniques, partly because it had fallen into disrepair over the years, and partly because there weren't as many people living in it. As Lord Gawain led them through the musty hallways, Eleanor saw not a single servant, and heard no signs of life from the doors they passed. She recalled what Armus had said earlier, about the castle being haunted, and shivered to herself. It was very easy to imagine the ghosts of the dead haunting this place. It felt almost as if the living did not belong here, so dark and gloomy was it. Shadows deepened the corners of the hallways, and occasional cobwebs could be seen on the ceiling.

Lord Gawain pushed open a wooden door, and it creaked ominously. Eleanor stepped into the room after her father and brothers, and was met by the heat of a roaring fire, and a sitting-room lit up by warm candle-light. There were no shadows here, and no cobwebs. There were chairs in front of the fire, comfortable looking things each with a small cushion to support the back, and benches lined each end of the room. All ill-feeling and unease disappeared from Eleanor's heart. This room was _definitely_ for the living, and it was a welcome relief after the coldness and eeriness of the forest.

"Please, seat yourselves in front of the fire," Lord Gawain said, gesturing to the chairs. Eleanor removed her cloak and put it over the back of one of the chairs, then sat down and leant forwards towards the fire, holding out her hands as the feeling slowly returned to her fingers. Never before had the warmth of a fire felt so good to her. "Gwendolyn, would you please fetch draughts of mead for our guests? We must warm them inside, as well as outside." Lady Gwendolyn nodded and left the room, and Lord Gawain put another log onto the fire, stoking it with a metal poker. "We have only three servants here," he explained. "A cook, a groom, and a single maid. We've never needed more than that."

Eleanor glanced back at the door, and then gasped in fright. Standing beside it, as if on guard, were two men; one looked to be a warrior, with a sword at his hip and a leather jerkin covering his chest, and his face was quite pleasing to the eye. The second man, however, had skin as dark as ebony wood, which made him almost invisible against the dark colour of the wood-panelled walls. His eyes seemed a brilliant colour of white around black irises, and stood out in contrast from his dark face.

When Lord Gawain heard her gasp, he looked towards the dark man, then smiled. "There is no need to fear Habal, Lady Eleanor. He does not bite."

"I'm sorry," she said, feeling a blush creep over her cheeks. "I just didn't see him standing there at first. I thought we were alone."

Armus stood up, and walked over to the man. "I've never seen a man with such dark skin before. Are you perchance from Africa?" he asked. The dark man merely looked at him blankly.

"Habal is not very talkative," Lord Gawain replied for him. "But he is indeed from Africa. He is a fine warrior. And the gentleman to his left is James Cole. If there was true fairness in the world, they would be knights of the highest order, for two braver and more noble men I have never met before in my life. Unfortunately, we do not live in fair times, and a man who is not noble-born, or who has dark skin, must do more than any other man to prove he is worthy of knighthood."

"Lord Gawain," father said, as Armus reclaimed his seat, "I was wondering if you knew what happened to Greenwood Castle's original inhabitants."

"Ahh," the Lord replied with a smile. He was, Eleanor decided, a very handsome man. His features were strong and noble, he carried himself with confidence, and he was as well-spoken as any Lord she had met. Suddenly, she wished she'd worn the dress. "You want to know if I am of the Hawes family, and whether or not I intend on reclaiming old lands. Much to your good fortune, Sir Thomas, the Hawes family are gone forever. The last family member died long ago, leaving no heirs."

"Is it true that the ghosts of the family haunt this castle?" Armus asked. Richard gave an amused snort at his older brother's words. He did not believe in ghosts, or other such superstitions. As far as Richard was concerned, if he couldn't see something, or measure it, it didn't exist.

"I myself have never seen a ghost," Lord Gawain said, taking the question seriously. "But sometimes I get a feeling, like cold fingers creeping up my spine, and a shiver takes hold of me even when I am sitting beside a warm fire." And just then, Eleanor _did_ feel a cold shiver chill her flesh. She told herself it was just because she was chilled to the bone by the rain. "And sometimes," Gawain continued, "late at night, as I am lying in bed, I hear what sounds like sobbing or weeping."

"Perhaps it is Lady Gwendolyn you hear, weeping in her chambers," Richard suggested.

Lord Gawain let out an unrestrained laugh, a loud and hearty noise that would have sounded just as natural in a tavern as in a castle. "The Lady Gwendolyn does not weep. In fact, I think if she met a ghost, then the ghost would be the one to flee in fright. No my friend, this sound of weeping is not an earthly sound. It echoes around the castle, and sometimes it does not stop until the sun has risen above the horizon."

The door to the room opened, and Lady Gwendolyn stepped through it, carrying a tray in her hand. On the tray were seven goblets, and she offered one first to Sir Thomas, then to Armus and Richard, who thanked her for the drinks.

"Not many people know this," Lord Gawain said, "but the mead we make here is the best mead in the whole of England. Try it, and see for yourselves."

When Lady Gwendolyn reached Cedric, he gave her a warm smile. "A sweet drink from the hand of a sweet lady," he said.

"Actually, my Lord," Lady Gwendolyn replied, "you will find that our mead is not as sweet as you might think. Most people believe that mead must taste sweet to be good, so they make it with as much honey as they can, and care little for the substance of it. The mead we make in the Greenwood has a unique taste, and is full of personality. It takes time and effort to brew it, and we do not offer it to just anyone who happens to wander into our forest."

"Then I shall be sure to savour every last drop of it," he replied, accepting one of the goblets.

Lady Gwendolyn left Cedric and approached Eleanor, lowering the tray to allow her to take one of the cups. "Thank you," Eleanor said, with a smile for the other woman. The Lady returned the smile, and then took the tray to Lord Gawain, letting him take the next drink before keeping the last for herself.

Eleanor took a sip of the mead, the taste of alcohol and honey gliding over her tongue and down her throat. Gwendolyn had been right; it wasn't the sweetest mead she had ever tasted, but it had subtle undertones of other flavours which gave it a very unique taste. 'Personality' was the right word for it.

"This is wonderful," Armus said, his voice full of appreciation. "Lady Gwendolyn, did you make this yourself?"

"No," the Lady replied. "It has always been made this way, in the Greenwood. I myself have no talent for brewing; it is made by the women of the village, and is one of the few commodities we can provide for ourselves."

"Northumbria," Sir Thomas said, and Gwendolyn looked at him with surprise. "I've been trying to place your accent ever since you first spoke. It's barely noticeable, but it's from Northumbria, is it not?"

"Yes, my Lord," Gwendolyn replied. "I was raised there."

"And might I ask if you and Lord Gawain have any right to the titles you use?"

Gwendolyn glanced up at Gawain, looking a little unsure of herself. Her cousin answered for her.

"Then it is the story of my life you wish to hear, Sir Thomas?"

"I have many questions," father said, "about who you are, where you're from, and why you've dedicated yourself to protecting this forest. Of course, I can't force you to tell me the truth, but I have come here to offer friendship, and I can only offer that to a man who is honest with me."

"Very well. Gwendolyn, perhaps you could provide a little background music for our guests, whilst I speak. I'm sure they will find it restful after their long journey."

Lady Gwendolyn went to the corner of the room closest to the fire, and removed a cloth that was covering up a tall double-harp. Putting her goblet down on the small table beside it, she sat atop a stool and began plucking at the strings of the harp, producing a quiet but clear sound. A small tabby cat appeared from behind the pile of firewood and sauntered over to the people seated in front of the fire, watching them warily for a moment before deciding to jump up on Eleanor's lap. Delighted by the attention, she stroked the animal's soft fur until it settled down, curling up on her knee and purring contentedly.

Lord Gawain sat down in a chair, facing his guests, who gave him their full attention. Well, Cedric split his attention between Gawain and his beautiful cousin, but everybody else gave him their attention.

"Would it surprise you to hear that I am not of noble birth, Sir Thomas?" Lord Gawain asked. He ploughed on without waiting for a response. "As to your questions, the answers are simple. I have dedicated myself to protecting the Greenwood, because I was born here. The village you passed through is where I was born, and where I spent the first few years of my life." He smiled, and his eyes looked through the room as he recalled his memories. "I lived with my mother and father and elder brother, and we were peasants, with nothing to our name except the clothes we wore and the roof above our heads. When I was six years old, the village was attacked by a band of brigands. Most of the villagers fled into the woods, and hid themselves, but my family were not so lucky. My father tried to confront the thugs, to distract them long enough to allow us time to escape, and they slew him. As punishment for his defiance, they set fire to our house. I was small enough that my mother was able to push me out of the single window in our home, but she and my elder brother were not so lucky. They were burnt alive."

"I can only imagine how horrible that must have been for you to witness," father said, with sympathy in his voice. Eleanor's heart went out to the man. For him to have lost his family in such a way was just dreadful. Not for the first time, she wondered why God allowed such wickedness to persist.

"Yes, I was quite traumatised," Gawain agreed. "For several months, the rest of the villagers took care of me, the women taking it in turns to feed me and give me shelter in their homes. Then one day, a man arrived, bearing a letter that had been sent to him by way of messenger by the village blacksmith, telling him of my family's death. The man was my uncle, Aaron Lockwood, my dead mother's only brother, though I had never met him before then. He was stable-master to Lord Linley of Northumbria, and when he learnt of my family's fate, he came to collect me, and take me back to the Lord's castle, where he could raise me as his own.

"Once I was settled into my new home, I helped my uncle in the stables, learning about horses. When I was old enough, he asked the captain of the guard to teach me to fight, and I learnt to wield a blade and shoot a bow. I enjoyed doing the things that all young men do; hunting, drinking, riding, training horses and hounds. And when I wasn't doing those things, I spent my time learning how to read and write and add numbers. As terrible as it was to have lost my family, I had a far better education and quality of life living with my uncle than I ever would have done living in the Greenwood."

"It sounds as if you were very fortunate," Richard said. "Most orphans do not have such opportunities."

"I was fortunate indeed," Gawain agreed, taking a drink of his mead. In the background, Gwendolyn's playing continued quietly. "But it was not to last. A few years ago, my uncle contracted a sickness from which he never recovered. After his funeral, I felt as if I didn't belong at Lord Linley's castle anymore. It was then I recalled the early years of my childhood, and I decided to return here, to help the people who had shown me kindness after the death of my family. Whilst travelling, I met Cole, performing mercenary work. We struck up a friendship and he decided to travel here with me. Along the way, we encountered Habal, being set upon by hostile peasants who thought him a devil because of his skin-colour.

"We saved him from the peasants, and he vowed to stay with us. We taught him how to speak proper English, and he explained that he was an outcast, ostracised from his people for a perceived slight against a tribal elder. He'd travelled through Europe and to England because he'd heard tales of white frozen water, and wanted to see it for himself. Can you imagine, living in a place which never sees snow?"

"There are many such places," Armus spoke up. "It was one of the things I missed most, whilst away in the crusades."

"The three of you travelled to the Greenwood?" Sir Thomas asked Gawain.

"Indeed. Here, we found the conditions terrible. Banditry was rife, and people were dying of disease every day. I swore to put an end to it, and that is just what I have done. It is the least I can offer my own people."

When silence fell over the room, broken only by the sound of the harp music, Eleanor spoke up. "I think you're very brave, Lord Gawain," she said. "Leaving the place where you grew up and travelling back here could not have been easy for you."

"I felt it was something I had to do," Gawain shrugged, and then gave her a smile which warmed her heart. "But I thank you for your kind words, Lady Eleanor."

"I too am impressed by your actions," father said, and Eleanor could _hear_ the 'but' in his voice. "But you have to realise, that you have no right to claim lordship here."

"Don't I? I protect my people from harm. I keep them safe and have improved their lives tenfold since I came here. They look to me for guidance and safety. I listen to their complaints and settle their disputes. Aren't these things that any Lord would do for his people?"

"They are, but merely wanting to be a Lord does not make you one."

"Ahh, I see," Gawain replied. "It disturbs you, that an ignoble man can perform the tasks of a noble man, and with as much skill and success as a noble man. You feel threatened by it."

"That is completely ridiculous!" Richard said, pushing himself to his feet in anger. "Your presumptuousness is offensive, not threatening."

Eleanor felt her heart beating faster at her brother's words and actions. Though nothing had changed, the entire focus of the room was now upon him; Gwendolyn was watching him even as she continued playing, and both Habal and Cole had put their hands on their swords. Why, oh _why_ did Richard have to let his anger get the better of him at times like this?

"Offensive because it demeans and belittles your noble titles?" Gawain asked calmly. "Because it makes a mockery of everything you are?"

"I will not stand for this!" Richard scowled.

"Then perhaps you will sit for it, instead?"

"Richard," father said, a strong tone of warning in his voice. "Calm yourself. Gawain, perhaps you and I could speak in private about certain matters."

"As you wish, Sir Thomas," Gawain said amiably. "Gwendolyn, would you and Cole please escort our guests on a tour of the castle? I'm sure they would like to see the progress we have made on restoring it to its former glory. Perhaps they will even see a ghost. And Habal, please ask the cook to prepare a meal; our guests will be dining with us this evening. And then ask Maria to make up beds in the spare chambers. The least we can offer Sir Thomas and his family is our hospitality for the night."

"Thank you, we are most grateful," father said.

The music from the harp stopped as Habal left the room, and Gwendolyn stood up. "If you would like to follow me, I would be pleased to show you around our home."

Unsurprisingly, Cedric was the first one to his feet, practically falling over himself to reach the woman's side. Eleanor removed the cat from her lap, which looked bewildered when it was placed on the cold stone floor, and then stood up more slowly. The mead, warm fire, quiet music and purring cat had all had their effect on her, and she felt extraordinarily tired. Fortunately, her clothes were now dry, and she no longer felt chilled to her core.

"Father..." she heard Richard say quietly. He clearly didn't like the thought of leaving father alone with a man he considered a charlatan.

"Go with the others, Richard," father told him.

Richard lifted his chin and obeyed, following Armus, who was trailing after Cedric and Gwendolyn. Before she left the room, she took a look back at her father, who nodded to her in reassurance. She followed Richard out into the cold corridor, and Cole came last, closing the door behind him.

o - o - o - o - o

As the door closed behind the children, Sir Thomas turned to Gawain. He couldn't help but like the man. Gawain was obviously intelligent and learned, as well as an accomplished fighter. On top of that he was friendly and modest, down to earth and generous, as evidenced by his offer of hospitality. But that didn't make him a noble, or entitle him to use the honorifics of one. The sooner Sir Thomas was able to get the notion out of the young man's head, the better off Gawain would be.

"Your daughter is quite beautiful," Gawain said suddenly.

"Err, yes, she is," he replied, momentarily thrown by the sudden change in topic. Then he realised what Gawain might be implying. "Marrying her, however, would not make you a noble."

"I wouldn't even conceive of it," Gawain smiled. "I was merely offering you a compliment. A man can do that without having an ulterior motive, can't he?"

"Of course. I apologise if I've jumped to conclusions. Tell me something, Gawain, is it really that important to you, to be counted as a noble?"

"I simply want what I feel I am due," Gawain replied, bending down to stroke the tabby cat that wound itself around his legs. "A man does not have to be noble-born to do great things, so why should only nobles be allowed titles and rights?"

"Because that is the way of things," Thomas sighed. He had heard such arguments before, from Eleanor, only with the inequalities between women and men substituted for the inequalities between commoners and nobles.

"Do you know _why_ it is that way?" Gawain asked, looking into his eyes. "Yes, you do. I can see it within you. You know that a common man can never become a noble, because it will give all commoners ideas above their stations. What would happen if peasants thought they could become nobles? Anarchy. Chaos. Revolution. Our society works only because every commoner knows he can never be anything other than what he was born. No matter how hard he works, no matter how much he sacrifices, he will only ever be a common man, a serf to be used by his masters."

"That doesn't mean that common men cannot hold positions of power," he countered. "A man who can read and write can become a wealthy merchant. A man who believes in God can rise through the ranks of the clergy. A man who can fight and fight well can become a renowned warrior."

"I'm not talking about power, Sir Thomas, I'm talking about respect. I'm talking about rights. I will never be allowed to talk to a noble as an equal, because I am not equal. I am low-born. If I meet a noble, I must bend my back and scrape my feet, showing subservience. To do otherwise would be to cause great offence. For the act of lifting my head, I might have it chopped off. For daring to look a nobleman in the eyes, I might have mine removed. For daring to speak as an equal, I would have my tongue cut out so that I could speak no more. Do you see where I am going with this?"

"I do," Thomas replied. He understood what Gawain was saying, and even agreed with some of it. But that didn't mean he could change the entire world. "For what it's worth, I believe in judging a man on his words and his actions, not on his blood or his family name. But I am in the minority, and you have to realise how dangerous this game is, that you are playing. When word starts to spread of your campaign here in the Greenwood, the eyes of other nobles will fall upon you, and they will not be willing to listen to the story of your life and give you the benefit of the doubt. They will see only that you dare to call yourself 'Lord', and not even God will be able to protect you from their wrath."

"Then perhaps their wrath is what is needed," Gawain said in a calm tone. "As word spreads, more eyes will turn towards me. Perhaps one day, even the eyes of the King will fall upon me. And people will see what I have accomplished, which may lead to them re-evaluating the worth of a man's life, be he low-born or high."

"It will more likely lead to them imprisoning or executing you as a warning to others who get ideas above their station."

"Then I will die a martyr. Perhaps it will be a reminder that our Lord Jesus Christ himself was born the son of a carpenter."

"You compare yourself to Jesus?" Thomas asked in disbelief.

Gawain smiled. "I am not that foolish. The Lord Christ was the saviour of mankind. I am but a humble warrior. But I would still like to see change, and I am willing to suffer for it, if necessary."

Sir Thomas shook his head. How he wished Lady Elizabeth was here, to advise him on how to deal with this matter. He liked Gawain and didn't want to see the man hurt, but how could he possibly discourage somebody who was willing to die for their ideals if necessary? You just couldn't talk somebody out of having conviction. Not when they truly believed in something with all their heart.

"Tell me something," he said. "Why have you chosen this path? You could have pretended to be a long-lost heir of the Hawes family. It would have given you the chance to be a Lord without potentially suffering for it. You would have been able to claim this land as your own."

"But then nothing would change, would it? I do not seek power and wealth for me, I seek equality and respect for all men, regardless of their family name, or skin colour, or faith. When Jesus gave his life for us, did he give his life only for the high-born and the wealthy? Did he only ever heal the ailments of lords and ladies? Or did he walk amongst the poor and heal them too, and feed and clothe them? Were his miracles only for those born with silver spoons in their mouths?"

"You've studied the bible in considerable depth, haven't you?" he asked. Gawain sounded very much like the Friar.

"My uncle was a very religious man. It was important to him that I learn about Christianity, and the teachings of our Lord." Gawain sat back in his chair. "The simple fact of it is, God created all men equal. It is men who divide themselves and separate those perceived to be worthy from those perceived to be unworthy. If a noble and a peasant both steal, which one is more severely punished? The one who steals out of necessity, of course. How is this just, or fair? The world is standing on its head, Sir Thomas, and nobody can see it."

There was no argument Sir Thomas could make against Gawain's words. The man was right. All too often a peasant was punished unjustly for minor misdemeanours, whilst nobles could get away with murder. Baron Mullens' son, Henry of Gault, had burnt and pillaged villages on the Grey's lands. Lord Trenton, a veteran knight, had murdered a woman and had his case thrown out by the king's High Chancellor, because his expertise in fighting the Scots was needed. Baron Mullens had committed adultery with another man's wife, and conspired with bandits to save his own hide. Everywhere Sir Thomas looked, nobles were behaving less than nobly. It was the same sort of hypocrisy that Armus had seen in the Crusades. But what could he do? He was just one man, and as much as he wished he could right the injustices in the world, he knew that it would never change. Not for Eleanor, and not for Gawain. The world was the way it was. Life was simply unfair.

* * *

_Author's Note: To my anonymous Guest reviewer, thank you so much for your feedback. I'm glad it stands up to the scrutiny of an original fan! And cheers for pointing out the 'comely' error. I did indeed mean 'homely' and have amended the chapter accordingly. Please do feel free to point out any additional minor niggles you come across, as I hatesss the errors in my writing. And my apologies to everyone reading this for yet another long chapter. I know they can be difficult to slog through at times, but when I tried breaking it up into a couple of smaller chapters it interrupted the flow too much. On the other hand, I consider it a great excuse for you to sit in front of your computer/tablet/whatever with your beverage of choice._


	4. A Noble Welcome

Gawain of the Greenwood

_4. A Noble Welcome_

"And this," Gwendolyn said, opening the door and stepping inside the next room, "is the indoor garden. We grow many herbs here, for medicinal and culinary use."

Cedric glanced briefly over the room, taking in the green plants in pots, then turned his attention back to Gwendolyn. Herbs and flowers did not interest him nearly as much as beautiful women did. And Gwendolyn was indeed very beautiful, as well as talented. She was a _much_ better musician than Eleanor, though it was quite probable that Damascus was a better musician than Eleanor.

"Amazing," Armus said, wandering into the room and heading for what was probably an interesting plant. "Coltsfoot? I sometimes cook with this, to salt the food, though I've seen it used to help ease a cough as well. It can be dangerous for young children to consume, though."

"Then it's fortunate we have no young children in the castle," said Gwendolyn.

"And is this fennel?" Armus asked, moving in to a taller light green plant and sniffing it.

"Yes. We use it in cooking, and burn it in the stables in summer. Flies seem not to like it, and it keeps them away from the horses."

"The depth of your knowledge is truly impressive, Lady Gwendolyn," Cedric offered. Women loved to be complimented, he knew.

"Just Gwendolyn, please," she said, looking askance at Richard. "I'd hate to offend your delicate noble sensibilities."

"Oh, you don't offend me at all," he assured her quickly, while Richard scowled.

"It is offensive when _anybody_ claims to be something they are not," Richard said.

Behind Richard, Cedric saw Armus wince. Richard could be incredibly insensitive, at times. Though he'd finally forgiven Armus for letting everyone believe he'd fought on the front lines in the Crusades, when in fact he'd spent his time away from battle as a cook for the army, it was still an uncomfortable subject for Armus. Sometimes, Cedric thought that of all the children, Richard had had it easiest. When Armus had gone off to face a difficult life—and possibly painful death—in the crusades, Richard had smoothly stepped in and been given special treatment and responsibility because he was the next eldest. Eleanor had lived her whole life struggling to be seen as equal to her brothers, and both Richard and William had often been dismissive of her accomplishments. And Cedric himself had been forced against his will to study in preparation for life in the church, when all he wanted to do was stay home and be a knight, just like his older brothers. But had they been sympathetic? Not at all. They'd often belittled and made fun of him, though usually not out of cruelty, but a warped sense of humour. Sometimes, it seemed that Richard was so blinded by his morals that he couldn't see things for how they truly were.

"Gwendolyn," Eleanor said, "it must be difficult for you, living here with no other women to speak to."

"I often spend my days in the village, helping where I can," Gwendolyn replied. "Besides, there is much work to be done here, and we're rarely idle. Nobody in the Greenwood is afraid to get their hands dirty."

"Is life here very different to life in Northumbria?" Cedric asked her. He knew that women liked being asked about themselves, but as well as that, he was genuinely interested in her opinion. He had never been to Northumbria, and had little idea of what it was like.

"In some respects, yes," she replied. "The weather is less fair there, than it is here."

"You call that downpour we had 'fair'?" he asked in disbelief.

"Compared to the howling winds and freezing temperatures of Northumbria, yes," she said. "It is always colder, the further north you travel, and the castles there are not as comfortable as they are here. There is always the threat of invasion, from neighbouring earls or from the Scots. Lone travellers make easy targets for bandits, and merchants often have to employ a large number of mercenary guards to stay safe. It is also harder to grow crops there, because the earth is less fertile and usually frozen for longer during the winter."

"A miracle, then, that such a harsh and unforgiving place could produce a woman as fair and beautiful as yourself," he said.

Gwendolyn merely blinked, and then gestured to the whole group. "Would you like to see the solarium? I expect we'll have an excellent view of the clear night sky very shortly."

"Actually," Richard said, rather curtly, "if we're to stay the night here, I'd prefer to check on my horse, and make sure he's well settled for the evening."

"I'd like to see the solarium," Cedric said quickly. "I love the night sky."

"You wouldn't rather check on your horse?" Gwendolyn asked.

"Oh no, I trust your groom completely. Besides, I'm sure Armus wouldn't mind sticking his head over the stable door, whilst he checks on his own horse. You _did_ want to have a look at that hoof after all, Armus, when you thought Thunder had cast a shoe in the mud."

"Yes, that's right," Armus said, immediately understanding Cedric's unspoken request. "Eleanor, I'm going to need your help. You'll have to hold his head for me whilst I see to that shoe."

"Of course. I know how awkward your horse can be for the farrier," Eleanor agreed.

Gwendolyn turned to Cole, and Cedric quickly mouthed 'thank you' to his brother and sister. Richard merely folded his arms across his chest and rolled his eyes. Of course, Richard _would_ be like that—he'd already found himself a woman to court. He had it easy, now. All he had to do was walk around looking brave and noble, and preferably not open his mouth enough to scare Charlotte away.

"Take them to the stables, and ask Paul to see to any additional requirements they might have for their animals," Gwendolyn told Cole.

"Are you sure you don't want to go to the stables yourself... my Lady?" Cole asked, eyeing Cedric suspiciously. Ugh, Cedric thought. Trust fate to lumber him with the over-protective warrior.

"It's too dark outside," Gwendolyn replied, gesturing down to her feet. "I would only soil my shoes and dress. You know how much I hate soiling my shoes and dress."

Cole grunted, then gestured to Richard, Armus and Eleanor. "If you'd care to follow me, my Lords and Lady, I'll take you to your beasts forthwith."

Cedric smiled at Gwendolyn as his brothers and sister filed out of the room. _Finally_ he was alone with the beautiful woman. Not that he minded his family being around, but they hardly made for a romantic evening. Now, a clear night sky and pretty stars to watch; _that_ was a romantic evening.

Gwendolyn stepped out of the indoor herb garden, back into the corridor, and he followed her, closing the door behind himself.

"The solarium is at the highest point within the tower, just above the tree line," she told him factually. "There is a short climb up the stairs to reach it. Are you sure you wouldn't rather visit the stable, with the rest of your family?"

"Quite sure," he said, before she could even insist on going down there. "I don't mind a climb. In fact, I love climbing. Stairs, rocks, trees... you name it, and I'll climb it."

"Very well. This way, then."

She set off down the hallway and he quickly caught up with her and offered her his arm. "Would you do me the honour of allowing me to escort you, my Lady?"

"But I am not a Lady," she reminded him.

"I would like to escort you anyway," he insisted. Such distinctions made little difference to him; he was the youngest son, and though he was the son of a noble, he would never be in a position to inherit anything of importance. That honour fell to Armus, or Richard, if anything was to happen to Armus. And then William was next. Cedric was the last in line to inherit, just ahead of Eleanor, who would never inherit whilst she had male relatives living, because she was a woman. For all intents and purposes, Cedric was free to marry any woman he chose, whether for love or business or prestige. The only thing he had to worry about was his father arranging a marriage for him to seal an agreement, but the chances of that happening were very slim.

He could sense Gwendolyn's reluctance, but he didn't let that bother him. She was just nervous, and inexperienced. He could tell by the way she placed her hand lightly on his arm, and didn't walk too closely to him. Ah well, shyness in a woman was an easy thing for him to overcome. All it took was a little patience and effort.

"Your brother doesn't seem to like my cousin. Or me either, for that matter," Gwendolyn observed.

"Richard's always overly critical of others," he told her. "Please don't let him bother you."

"Why do you think he is like that?"

"Well, the first thing you have to do when you become a knight, is swear to never have a sense of humour. In Richard's case that wasn't very difficult, because he wasn't born with one."

She didn't laugh, as he had expected, which was slightly worrying. Instead, she asked, "Doesn't it bother you, as well? That Gawain introduced himself as a Lord, and me as a Lady, even though neither of us is noble-born?"

"Not at all. You see, Richard lives in a world where everything is black or white. You're either a knight, or you're not. You're either a noble, or you're not. He doesn't see the shades of grey."

For some reason, _that_ got a smile out of her, though it was a fleeting one. "And you, I suppose, are one of those shades of grey?"

"The greyest," he assured her.

"And if I was to tell you that Gawain intends to seek nobility for himself, so that he can work at bringing down the system of oppression from within?"

"Best of luck to him, I say," he replied.

"It doesn't bother you that he might succeed? That he might be the driving force behind a peasant revolt? That you might be displaced from your warm, comfortable castle, separated from your warm, comfortable bed, and left out in the cold without food or shelter?"

"If that happened, I would ask some kind-hearted woman to take pity on me, and sleep in front of her fire on old potato sacks, if necessary. As for food... well, I'd travel from inn to inn, singing for my supper."

"You can sing?"

"Not half as well as I imagine I can. But you seem to be quite the harpist. Where did you learn to play?"

She reached to open a door, but he got there before her, and opened it to allow her to pass first. When he followed and once more offered his arm, he found himself looking at a staircase winding up a square tower. So that Gwendolyn could hold her shawl closed against the cold air, whilst still keeping her right hand on his left arm, Cedric took one of the candles in its holder, and held it aloft to cast light for them to see by. He tried not to shiver as they started to climb, but it was difficult. He'd been thoroughly chilled by his soaking in the rain, and just when he'd gotten warm and dry, he'd been sent on a tour of this God-forsaken castle by his father.

"Lord Linley's mother was an elderly woman named Clara," Gwendolyn said. Cedric paced himself up the stairs to match her smaller steps, and he wondered how her feet hadn't gone numb with cold in her thin slippers. "Several years before I was born, she lost her grandchildren to a coughing sickness, and it devastated her. I think I reminded her of them. She took favour to me, or perhaps she took pity on me. Every evening after supper, she had me brought to her chamber, where she taught me to play the harp. She had me fitted for dresses, and taught me to read and write. She taught me about what is expected of a Lady, even though I was not really a Lady. Often I wished I could tell her that I had no desire to learn of such things, but she was sad and lonely, and I knew she was teaching me the things she had wished to teach her own grand-daughters."

"Were your father and Gawain the only family you had?" he asked.

She glanced at the floor briefly before replying. "It was a lonely time for me."

"And what of your mother?"

"She died when I was young."

"Do you remember her at all?"

"Only her smiling face, and her voice as she sang me lullabies." A light smiled played across her face, or perhaps it was just a trick of the shadows. "There was one she sang, something about a man who loved a woman who lived across the sea. I don't even remember the words to it, or anything about it other than that one small fact. But sometimes, when I close my eyes and concentrate, I can hear mother's voice, humming the tune."

"My mother died when I was just a baby," he told her. "I don't remember anything about her."

"Do you think it is worse to remember something, or nothing?" she asked.

"I don't know. Armus remembers her, and it makes him happy. Richard remembers her, but it makes him sad, and angry. What about you? Which do you think is worse?"

She was silent for a moment, as she considered the question. "I think both are as bad as each other, but in different ways. To remember even small things... it hurts, and makes me ache inside. But to remember nothing... I think that would make me feel empty."

"I understand what you mean. I think I'm lucky in a way... there's a portrait of my mother in the castle, so I know what she looks like even though I can't remember her face. And I have my family, to tell me stories of what she was like. Seeing her through their eyes isn't quite the same as remembering her through my own, though."

"What did she look like?"

"She was very pretty. She had fair skin, and dark hair, dark brown or black like mine. In the portrait she's smiling, as if something was pleasing her at the moment she was painted. And her eyes are blue and very beautiful, like yours."

He'd hoped she might smile at his compliment, but she merely stopped walking and indicated a door in front of them. "The solarium is through here."

He was forced then to either drop the candle or remove his arm from beneath her hand, and since he suspected she wouldn't like being in a cold dark tower, he opted for removing his arm. Reaching out, he opened the door for her, and she lifted her dress slightly to ascend the last few steps. He followed her, and realised with relief that it was blessedly warm inside the solarium. A fire had been burning for some time in the small hearth, and though one of the windows was steamed up, the rest were clear, providing a fine view of the starry night sky.

He put the candle in its holder down on a table, and went to the closest glass window. Through it he could make out the tops of the trees, all spindly like skeletal fingers, and hills in the distance. High overhead, the moon was a thin crescent, a silver mouth smiling in the sky. He turned to look at Gwendolyn, and found her beside one of the windows, watching the sky. She stood tall and straight, with her hands folded in front of her, and looked somehow... sad. If anything, she looked even more beautiful up here in the half-darkness than she had down in the sitting room in full light. He joined her at the window, and decided to try to get her to open up a little more.

"Why did you leave Lord Linley's castle?" he asked. "It sounds as if you were cared for, there."

"I was, in a way. But Lady Clara had passed away the year before, and when Gawain decided to leave, I felt there was nothing keeping me in Northumbria anymore."

"Nothing at all? Surely a woman as beautiful as yourself must have had a number of offers from handsome suitors."

"I was rarely allowed in the company of men. Lady Clara was very protective of my virtue, and Lord Linley feared that I might insult a man of importance."

"Why would he think such a thing?"

"I picked up many bad habits from listening to the grooms and men-at-arms. Besides, even though Lady Clara favoured me, Lord Linley did not, and the daughter of a stable-master is still the daughter of a stable-master, no matter how much music you teach her, and how many fine dresses you put her in."

"Do you regret not being included in that aspect of life within the castle?"

"Not really," she shrugged. "I think I would hate being wed to a Lord."

"Oh," he said, feeling like England's biggest fool.

"I mean, what would there have been for me to look forward to? Having baby after baby, like some prized mare? Being forced to smile and welcome people into my home, even if I didn't like them? Having to tolerate the false pleasantries of men and women who begrudge me for not being of noble birth?"

"You sound very much like my sister," he told her. "Except for that last part. But you know, not all noble men are arrogant fools who consider women only as breeding stock for their future children."

"Ahh. And now for the part where you tell me that you're different. That you're nothing like the others."

"It's true," he assured her, stepping forward and taking both of her hands in his. "If a man and a woman enjoy each others' company, then why shouldn't they be able to spend time with each other and find pleasure in the simple things, without any obligations or expectations?"

"Then you would mislead a woman? Dangle her on the end of your rod like a fish out of water, and use her for your own pleasure before casting her aside?"

Good God! He couldn't decide whether or not she was knowledgable enough for such word-play, or whether she was just using what she thought was an innocent simile. The expression on her face seemed serious enough, but it was hard to tell in the half-darkness. He decided to play it safe and not rise to her bait... so to speak.

"Not just for my own pleasure," he said. "The Church teaches that it is better to give than to receive. Pleasure, like fine food and fine wine, is always better when shared equally."

"How very selfless of you," she smiled. "Tell me something... does this work very often?"

"Does what work very often?"

"Your handsome and charming young Lord routine. Do many girls fall for it?"

He didn't know whether to be flattered or insulted, so he opted first for the former, and kept the latter for later.

"You think I'm handsome?"

"I'm sure you know you are."

"Well, it never hurts to hear it. But," he said, as 'insulted' caught up with him, "it's not a routine. I mean every word that I say."

"I don't doubt that you do. Just as I don't doubt that you mean them every time you say them."

"If it's a crime to have found more than one woman beautiful, then it's a crime I am guilty of, and freely admit. But you are no less beautiful because of it. A man needs no sweet mead to warm him from the inside, when he has you to look at instead, Lady Gwendolyn."

He knew that she didn't believe him, but it wasn't as if he had anything to lose. Besides, she _was_ very beautiful, and God knew, he couldn't resist a beautiful woman. He lifted her right hand to kiss the back of her fingers, and her expression as she watched him didn't show so much as even a flicker of change. But perhaps he could surprise her yet.

"Since your Lady Clara was so protective of your virtue, so shall I be too," he said. "If you have looked long enough upon the night sky, please allow me to escort you back to your cousin, before anybody has reason to speak of our absence."

"A noble suggestion," she replied. "I am sure Clara would be grateful that somebody is here to protect my virtue in her place."

He let go of her hands, offering her his arm once more, which she accepted, and then picked up the candle in its holder. This wasn't defeat; not yet. He still had the rest of the night to convince her that his interest in her was genuine and not feigned. And besides, he'd never been one to back down from a challenge. It simply made success all the sweeter.

o - o - o - o - o

Shadows flickered along the hallways of Greenwood Castle, leaping and dancing as the candles set periodically into the wall spluttered in the draughts which found their way into the building through cracks in the masonry. To Eleanor, who was used to more comfort, it was not a pleasant place, though it was no doubt far more pleasant than the homes of the villagers.

Out in the stable she had made a show of helping Armus with Thunder's foot even though she was sure Cole knew there was nothing wrong with the horse, and that she had only gone to the stable to give Cedric some privacy with Gwendolyn. And though she had intended to stay in the stables for as long as possible, Richard's mood had proved so dark that she simply couldn't bear to spend another moment with him. It wasn't that he complained, or openly insulted Gawain, but he had gone quiet and surly, his answers becoming short and clipped as they did whenever he was angry.

Eleanor could understand Richard's feelings, even though she didn't agree with them. In many ways, Gawain was much like herself. He, too, was unhappy with his life, and actively doing everything he could to improve it. He, too, wanted more from life than he had been born with. The only difference was, he was a man trying to earn the respect of noble men, and she was a woman trying to earn the respect of men in general. Gawain's task, she suspected, was much more difficult than her own. If the fates were smiling on her, she might find a husband who could accept her wayward lifestyle and allow her to live as she chose. But no matter how hard Gawain tried, and no matter how much he achieved, the noblemen of England would never see him as a Lord because it was the blood of a commoner which flowed through his veins.

It was a true shame. Gawain was brave and confident and seemed to be generous and caring too – all qualities she liked in a man. Had he been a knight or a Lord, he would have been as popular with the women as with the men, because he was also handsome, with warm, attentive eyes and a pleasing voice. A man like Gawain was a man she wouldn't mind wearing a dress for. Perhaps she would have chance to speak to him alone after supper, to talk to him of more personal things.

As she walked down the corridors, she tried various handles of doors, and found most of the rooms empty, or the doors leading to stairwells or other corridors. Gawain's words were at the front of her mind; _Perhaps they will see a ghost_. She had never seen a ghost before, but she had heard of them, and spoken to people who sworn to have seen them. And even though the idea of seeing the ghost of a dead person frightened her, she was determined to not let her fear show. Besides, her father and Gawain probably hadn't finished speaking yet, and she didn't want to interrupt Cedric and Gwendolyn. Returning to the stable was also out of the question, for as long as Richard was sulking at least. She wasn't going to let him spoil her enjoyment of being here with his foul mood.

She tried another door handle, but it refused to budge. How strange! Why would a door be locked? Very few doors in Covington Cross had locks on them; only the outer doors and dungeon cells could be locked with a key. Her curiosity getting the better of her, she used both hands, and tried to apply more pressure to the handle. Perhaps the door was not locked, but stiff with age or damage.

"What are you doing here?" a deep voice asked behind her.

Eleanor jumped in fright and spun around with her hand covering her mouth as she stifled her scream. It was Habal standing in the corridor, his dark skin making him blend in with his surroundings. Though he was wearing the same style of clothes as Cole—comfortable woollen trews and a leather jerkin over a plain shirt—he looked very different, as if the clothes didn't belong to him, or on him, and never would. Was that what men thought when they saw Eleanor? Did they see men's clothes looking out of place on her? No wonder they scorned her.

"You should not be doing that," Habal said. His English was perfectly legible, but he spoke with a thick foreign accent, and said each word slowly and clearly, as if thinking of what he had to say before saying it. In the darkness of the corridor, he looked much larger than he had in the sitting-room, and seemed to loom threateningly as he stared down at her.

"I'm sorry," she said. Though she rarely ever said sorry for anything, it seemed a good idea to apologise to the large strange man who had caught her trying to force a door that might have been locked for a reason. "I was just looking around. What's behind here?"

"The armoury."

"Why is it locked?"

"Because you are not to go in there."

"Why not? I've seen weapons before, you know."

"You are not to go in there. Return to your father."

How very rude! She was not some serving girl, to be ordered around and cowed into submission. She was a Lady, the daughter of an honourable knight, and a guest of Lord Gawain. He was the one who had suggested a tour of the castle; he hadn't specified that she couldn't tour it alone. But Habal did not look as if he would be willing to listen to her arguments. He stepped in front of the door and folded his arms across her chest, barring any further attempts to open it.

Telling herself that it was politeness which made her leave, and not fear, she turned around and travelled back down the corridor, to an intersection of hallways. She almost jumped again in fright when she heard voices echoing down from the longest corridor, but when Cedric and Gwendolyn appeared, and not deathly apparitions, she took a deep breath and tried to calm her nerves. There probably weren't even any such things as ghosts… it was just that this cold, draughty, empty castle played tricks on the imagination. It was inhabited more by shadows and spiders than by people, and it wasn't hard to imagine the ghosts of the Hawes family wandering these hallways.

Her brother and Gawain's cousin did not see Eleanor at first, and she watched them as she waited for them to approach. Cedric showed no indication that he was bothered by the unnatural feel of the castle. He laughed at something Gwendolyn said as he escorted the pretty woman down the corridor, and his body was facing slightly towards her, giving her the benefit of his full attention. Gwendolyn did not look quite as relaxed as her escort; her hand did not look entirely comfortable on his arm, and she walked rather stiffly, leaving an obvious gap between them. But she was at least talking, too quietly for Eleanor to hear, and did not appear to find Cedric's attention offensive or unwanted.

"Lady Eleanor," Gwendolyn said, as she and Cedric stopped beside her. "I am glad that you found us. I would like to offer you a place to freshen up before supper. I know how the rigours of travel can take their toll on a lady."

"Oh," she replied, surprised by the offer. Most Ladies didn't care for spending time with Eleanor – especially not when Cedric was close by instead. "I would like that, thank you." It _would_ be nice to possibly see herself in a looking-glass, and fix any flaws that she was suffering from as a result of her journey.

Gwendolyn turned to face Cedric. "You will excuse us my Lord, won't you?"

"Of course. Though my heart will grow colder with every passing moment that I am away from your presence, I look forward to seeing you again at supper."

He lifted her hand from his arm and kissed the back of her fingers, then left them alone, returning to the sitting-room. Gwendolyn gestured for Eleanor to join her in walking down the corridor she had just travelled. She glanced at the slightly shorter woman as she fell in beside her; Gwendolyn carried herself with grace and confidence, just like any noble woman, and if Eleanor hadn't known any better, she would have thought that Gwendolyn _was_ noble-born, rather than the daughter of a groom. Why would a woman leave the place where she had grown up to join her cousin in a strange and dangerous place?

"How was the horse's shoe?" Gwendolyn asked.

For a moment Eleanor was thrown by the question, but then she remembered her alleged reason for going down to the stable.

"The shoe was fine, but we found a sharp stone between the frog of the hoof and the shoe," she lied.

"I'm glad to hear it. Tell me, what do you think of the castle?"

"It's… got potential," Eleanor lied cautiously. She didn't want to insult the woman's home, because it was likely that with only one maid, Gwendolyn herself did a lot of the housekeeping. "I imagine it will be very cosy, once it's fully renovated."

"I hope so," Gwendolyn replied. "I think your brother believes he can charm his way into my bed-chamber."

"Cedric never forces his attentions where they aren't welcome," she assured her host. "If his advances offend you, simply tell him you are not interested, and he will leave you in peace."

"I'll keep your words in mind." Gwendolyn stopped in front of a door, then opened it and stepped through it. Eleanor followed, and found herself in a roomy bed-chamber with a large bed and a small hearth. It was a warm room, lit by candles and firelight, and it smelt of lavender. Beneath the window was a small dresser, on which was a looking-glass, hairbrush, and various personal items. "This is my room. I thought you might like to freshen up here."

"Thank you. It's very kind of you to offer me the use of your room," Eleanor said graciously. She took a seat at the dresser and un-braided her hair in front of the looking glass. Gwendolyn sat down on the end of the bed, smoothing out her dress so that it did not crease beneath her. Eleanor had never been good at socialising with women, but she decided she would make an effort this time. Gwendolyn was probably very lonely here; Eleanor, at least, had her large family to keep her company.

"Is there someone special in your life?" she asked.

"Gawain is my life," Gwendolyn replied firmly.

"Are the two of you close?" She couldn't help the cautious tone in her voice. Though she knew that relatives sometimes married—the noble families were so inter-bred that at times it was hard to find someone you _weren't_ related to in some way—it was rare for cousins to marry, except under strange circumstances.

"As close as two people can be. Though not," Gwendolyn added with a small smile, "in the way I suspect you are thinking."

"What about his life?" Eleanor picked up the brush from the table and ran it through her dark red locks. "Is there anybody special to Gawain?"

"Everybody is special to Gawain. He cares for the people of the Greenwood very much, and would do anything, give anything, to help them, to protect them. Often it seems he has little time for anything else, so occupied is he with making his peoples' lives better."

"What was he like as a child?"

Gwendolyn smiled. "When he arrived at Lord Linley's castle, he was small, and afraid of his own shadow. But he was also fiercely determined to do the work of a grown man. By the time he was eight he could put the tack on the tallest of horses, though he had to stand on straw bales to reach. When he was nine, he wanted to learn to fight, so that he would never have to sit back and watch a family be killed, as his family were. But all the time he had to battle against prejudice, because he was not noble-born. Many thought that he could not learn to do the things which the sons of nobles could do. But time and time again be proved them wrong. By the time he was sixteen, he was one of the best swordsmen in the castle, and an expert marksman. Many people resented him, which was why it wasn't difficult for him to leave."

"And what does he hope to achieve? Will be happy with controlling the Greenwood, or does he aim for more?"

"Your family's lands are safe, Lady Eleanor," Gwendolyn said curtly. "Gawain is not greedy, and he is not a thief. He merely wants to help the people here, and provide for them a place of safety, where their children can grow up without fear."

"Well, I think it's a very noble endeavour," she replied. "I only wish all nobles cared as much about their people, as Gawain cares for the people of the Greenwood."

"I know why your father is here. He is worried about the changes being wrought here, and how it might affect his lands. We are neighbours, after all. But what brings _you_ here, Lady Eleanor? What made _you_ decide to leave the comfort of your castle and journey here in foul weather?"

"Mostly it's because I've heard a lot of rumours about Gawain, and I wanted to see if there was any truth to them." She saw no point in lying about her motives.

"And what rumours have you heard?"

"That Gawain single-handed saved a family from being drowned in flood-waters, and that he frequently rescues merchants from bandits."

"The family wasn't at risk of drowning, they simply needed to cross the river when the bridge had been swept away. And he didn't help them single-handedly; Cole and Habal helped too, and some of the village men. "But he does rescue merchants from bandits… less frequently now that most of the criminals have moved away from the area."

"And is it true that outsiders rarely ever see him?"

"Gawain likes to maintain an air of mystery, and he knows that he is living a dangerous life. He prefers to let Sir Timothy handle most of the Greenwood's visitors, and allow rumour to do the rest for him."

"It sounds like a lonely way to live," she said.

"It is," Gwendolyn replied, looking as sad as Eleanor felt. "Gawain knows that he cannot relax and let down his guard even for a moment, otherwise the bandits will return, or true Lords may try to topple him. And he knows that ultimately, he might be severely punished for everything he has done here. He tries to remain strong and alone, and even though he has friends, he feels he cannot let anybody too close, for fear it might weaken him."

Eleanor dwelt on Gwendolyn's words as she re-plaited her hair. Gawain must lead a terribly lonely life, much like her father had before he and Lady Elizabeth had become lovers. Sir Thomas, too, had spent much of his life determined to do everything alone, not willing to lean on anybody or ask for help. Now that he had Lady Elizabeth, he was slowly coming to realise that he didn't have to do everything alone, but it sounded as if Gawain had a long way to go.

"Can I offer you advice?" Gwendolyn asked.

"Of course."

"You and your family should leave the Greenwood and not return. It is not a place for nobles, and your fancy ways. There is nothing here for you, and your interference is neither welcome nor appreciated."

Eleanor was shocked by the other woman's words. She and her family had been invited into the castle as guests, and to be spoken to so impolitely was a gross act of misconduct that showed just how much of a Lady Gwendolyn really wasn't. No Lady would have said something so unfriendly and blunt to another noble.

"If we are not welcome, then why did Gawain invite us into the castle?" she countered.

"Simple politeness. But now that you have seen we can be polite, you should also know that we will tolerate no interference. You are welcome here tonight, because you travelled far to see us through unfavourable conditions. Tomorrow you must leave, and think not of us again. It is for your benefit as much as ours."

"And what would Gawain say, if he heard you saying these things to me?" Surely the friendly, cheerful man would be appalled by his cousin's behaviour. Really, it was quite uncalled-for; if Gwendolyn did not want to spend time with Cedric, all she had to do was say so, not try to drive the whole Grey family away.

"We speak with one voice, in all matters," Gwendolyn said coolly. "You are offended by my words?"

"Of course," Eleanor said indignantly. How could Gwendolyn possibly think this was decent behaviour?

"And if our roles were reversed? If you had to tolerate somebody in your home, when you did not want them to be there? If strangers tried to interfere in your affairs, and impose their own morals on you, and judge you for your actions, how would you react?"

Damn the woman! Gwendolyn was right. Eleanor would not have been pleased if their roles were reversed. In the past, she had been very rude to Lady Elizabeth, openly questioning the woman's motives regarding Sir Thomas, and insulting the Lady to her face. Now she herself expected behaviour that she had not practiced in the past; it was a form of hypocrisy, although Eleanor had been behaving a lot more politely of late.

"We are alike in many ways, I think, Lady Eleanor," Gwendolyn said. "I, too, do not enjoy pretending to be what I am not. The only difference between us is that you have a right to be a noble, but I must pretend to be one. I'd rather not allow myself to be introduced as 'Lady Gwendolyn', but it must be this way. The villagers need somebody to look up to; they need a lie to believe in. And the other nobles would swoop in here in a heartbeat, intent on taking our land for themselves, if they thought it was unprotected."

"Is there anybody here who _does_ know that you and Gawain aren't the nobles you pretend to be?" Eleanor asked.

"Cole and Habal, of course. And Sir Timothy."

Eleanor was surprised by the response. Though she knew that Cole and Habal must know the truth, as they had been in the room for Gawain's story and shown no surprise over it, that Sir Timothy, an honourable knight, would allow himself to be used for deception, was concerning.

"My father is not like other nobles," Eleanor said. "He would not try to take your lands. He has no interest in the Greenwood. We don't have to be enemies, Gwendolyn."

"Perhaps not. But that doesn't mean we can be friends."

"Why not?"

"We are too different. Gawain and I have nothing in common with your family."

"You love each other, don't you? As my brothers and I love each other, and our father?"

"If you believe that love is some great, insurmountable force that can change men's hearts and bring strangers together, then you are even more naïve than I thought," Gwendolyn replied, rather haughtily.

Eleanor was saved from answering by a knock at the door. When Gwendolyn called for the person knocking to enter, Cole's head appeared, followed by the rest of his body when he saw that both women were fully dressed.

"Supper is ready, my Ladies," he said.

"Thank you, Cole. We'll be along very shortly."

Eleanor watched the man as he left the room, then turned to Gwendolyn. "He seems to care very much for you," she observed, hoping to find a topic to melt the woman's icy exterior.

"He is loyal to Gawain and Gawain's interests, and nothing more."

"That's a shame… he is a very handsome man."

"Then by all means, feel free to encourage him to pursue you. Flutter your lashes at him, give him coy smiles, laugh at the things he says."

"That's not what I meant!" she replied in frustration.

"If you cannot say clearly what you mean, then perhaps you should not speak." Gwendolyn stood up and smoothed out her dress again. "We should go to supper now. We don't want to keep everybody waiting."

Eleanor seethed in silence as she followed Gwendolyn out of the room and down the hallway. Never before had anybody spoken to her so rudely! And although she desperately wanted to give the faux-noble a piece of her mind, she had an uneasy suspicion that Gwendolyn was only the second woman Eleanor had met who was actually cleverer than her. It was one of the reasons why she had gotten on so poorly with Lady Elizabeth at first; she was used to simpering young women with fluff in their heads, rather than real thoughts. Lady Elizabeth had been a rude awakening, with a mind as sharp as a dagger and a tongue that could make bitter truths sound like warm honey. And now Eleanor was getting the same initial impression about Gwendolyn, too. From her father she had learnt to pick her battles wisely, and a battle with Gawain's cousin was one she suspected she would lose.

The dining room of Greenwood Castle was about half the size of Covington Castle's, and it was warmer, too, with smaller windows of stained glass. The dining table was scaled to fit the room, with bench space for ten; four down each side, and one at each end. Eleanor realised that Gawain was already sitting at the head of the table, waiting patiently for the last two diners. To his right was Sir Thomas, with Armus to his left, then Richard beside father and Cedric beside Armus. Gwendolyn immediately took the seat at the end of the table opposite Gawain, and Eleanor walked around to sit beside Cedric, who was usually more pleasant to sit next to than Richard.

Plates had been set on the table, along with knives, forks and spoons. There were two plates of fresh crusty bread, which smelled absolutely wonderful, at either end of the table, and small bowls had been place on top of the plates. Gawain smiled as both Eleanor and Gwendolyn sat down, and gestured to them.

"I hope you two have found much to talk about," he smiled.

"We discussed many things," Gwendolyn said smoothly before Eleanor could open her mouth.

"That pleases me. And Sir Richard, I trust your horse's stabling was to your satisfaction?"

"I have no complaints," Richard said stiffly.

A serving woman entered the room, dressed in plain but clean clothes, and carrying a large pitcher of liquid. She looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties, and kept her gaze on the ground as she approached the table, as if she feared to look at members of the nobility.

"Thank you, Maria," Gawain said, as the woman poured for him. "Sir Thomas, can I offer you some more mead?"

"I would like that very much," father replied. The servant poured mead for everyone except Cedric. He put his hand over the top of his cup when the servant approached, and looked at Gwendolyn.

"Thank you, but I require no mead," he said, which Eleanor suspected was supposed to mean something to the woman. Gwendolyn, however, failed to react in any way, and merely thanked the servant when she was poured a drink.

"I must say, Gawain," Armus spoke up, "I'm impressed with everything you've achieved so far here in the Greenwood. Rooting out the bandits must have taken a lot of time and hard work."

"And a lot of man-power," Richard added. "Your army must be impressive, and well-trained. I would very much like to meet them."

"You already have," Gawain replied with a small smile. "Sir Timothy and Cole, and of course, Habal."

"Do you honestly expect us to believe that you drove the bandits out of the Greenwood with only one knight and two mercenaries?"

"Cole and Habal are not mercenaries. They are here because they believe in me, and in my mission to restore peace to the Greenwood. Plus, I saved Habal's life, so he has sworn to aid me."

"That's preposterous!" Richard scoffed. "To think that four men alone, no matter how well trained they are, could rid this forest of every criminal who takes shelter here... you must think us fools to believe such an obvious lie."

"A lie, Sir Richard?" Gawain asked, one of his eyebrows lifting up in surprise. He showed no sign of anger or irritation over Richard's accusations, which made Eleanor's respect for him increase tenfold. Her older brother was hot-headed despite his aloofness, and he tended to make other men angry too. It was rare to find someone who could counter his anger with level-headed reasoning. "You have toured my castle and ridden through my village. Does it seem to you that I have a highly-trained army secreted away somewhere?"

"Perhaps it is simply very well hidden."

"Gawain," father said, interrupting the argument before it could progress further, "if you did not rid the Greenwood of bandits through force and numbers, then how did you accomplish it?"

"We employed their own tactics against them. We struck swiftly and without warning, when we were least expected. Whenever we found a camp, we would ride in, kill as many as possible, and then be gone before they could react. We chipped away at their numbers as we chipped away at their resolve. Bandits rarely cooperate with each other for very long; their lawless natures make them argumentative and naturally suspicious, so they rarely kept a watch at nights, allowing us to sneak up on them unawares. We became like the midge, taking small bites, harassing constantly, until they grew fearful and left."

"Impressive," said Armus. "You have adapted the bandits' methods, and used the nature of the Greenwood to your advantage."

"It sounds to me like you got lucky," Richard said. "Had you been facing co-operative men, well-practiced in the arts of war, your style of fighting would not have worked. The bandits' disorganisation was the only reason you were successful."

"Then we would have found a different way of fighting," said Gawain. "The mark of a great man is that he can adapt himself to any situation. But then, I am fortunate enough that I am not hampered by a knightly code of honour, which dictates that two enemies must face each other on the open battlefield, regardless of how many good men lose their lives with a frontal assault."

"You know," Cedric mused, "I'm surprised that the bandits weren't already using this castle, as a place of safety and refuge."

"They were."

"How did you take it from them?"

Gawain gestured at Gwendolyn, who answered for him. "I poisoned their drinks."

Eleanor looked down at her cup of mead, as did her father and elder brothers. Cedric, meanwhile, merely looked relieved that he'd refused the offer of a drink. After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, Gawain laughed aloud.

"Please, my friends, do not look so alarmed. This mead is perfectly fine."

"You _murdered_ men through poison?" Richard demanded of Gwendolyn.

"I'm sure she had a very good reason," Cedric said, leaping to the woman's defence.

"There is never 'good reason' for murder, little brother, no matter how beautiful the killer."

"I do not consider it murder, Sir Richard," Gwendolyn said, without any hint of anger or remorse. "It was justice."

"Justice, Gwendolyn, is a judge presiding in a court of law, and passing his judgement in the name of the king," father said.

"And would the king or his judges have passed a different judgement over murderers and thieves, or a different sentence at the end of the trial?"

"Probably not. But you cannot take the law into your own hands. If everybody in the world was responsible for passing judgement over others, and sentencing people for their crimes, we would no longer have order, and laws would become obsolete."

"And where was the king and his judges and his law when these people needed somebody to protect them, Sir Thomas?" Gwendolyn asked. Her voice was cold but there was a fire in her eyes that could have melted ice. "This forest has been ignored by the world for decades, considered nothing but an unpleasant land of criminals and peasants. Nobody cared enough to bring law and order here before, but now that we have imposed law and order, suddenly all you nobles are interested? You will ride in here and judge us for methods, rather than our achievements?"

"Please forgive Gwendolyn," Gawain said quickly. "She did not mean to speak so angrily. It's just that this is a difficult subject for her. For all of us. You see, when we arrived here, we found that the group of criminals who'd taken up residence in Greenwood Castle were using the women of the village as indentured servants. They threatened to harm the children and husbands of the women, unless they obeyed. The women were forced to serve the brigands, and forced to… entertain them. Many of the women with young children in the village do not know whether their children belong to their husbands, or the men who took them against their will."

"Their behaviour was outrageous," Armus said. He slammed his fist down on the table, making all the plates and cutlery jump, and Eleanor nearly gasped in shock. It was rare for Armus to be angry, and even rarer for him to show his anger. Only that which truly upset him could elicit such a furious response. "Father, I know you don't approve of people taking the law into their own hands, but surely you must agree that what Gwendolyn did was not murder, not by any definition of the word. In her position, would you have done differently?"

"Just how exactly _did_ you poison them?" Eleanor asked. The whole topic made her feel uncomfortable, but she was starting to realise that Gwendolyn might just be every bit as heroic as her cousin.

"I dressed myself as a village woman," Gwendolyn explained, "and in the morning, when the women were returning to the castle to prepare breakfast for the swine who called this place their home, I went with them. I found their barrels of wine, which they had stolen from merchants on the main road, and I poisoned it with an extract of monkshood. By the next morning, not a single brigand was left alive."

"I've seen a man die by poisoning from monkshood," Armus said. "It isn't a pleasant way to go."

"They were not pleasant men," Gwendolyn said levelly.

At that moment, the serving-girl returned to the room, carrying a large pot and a ladle. The smell of something delicious followed her, and as she began ladling food into the bowls on the table, Eleanor's stomach growled hungrily. It has been morning since she had last eaten, and though the soaking she had received had driven away her hunger, it was returned now with vengeance.

"Wild mushroom broth," Gawain said. "Hand-picked by somebody who can tell the edible mushrooms from the poisonous ones, I can assure you. Had we known in advance of your visit, we might have had time to prepare something a little more to your standards."

"Then I'm glad you didn't have time," Armus said. "Mushroom broth is my favourite."

"And mine too," Cedric added.

Eleanor accepted the plate of bread from Gwendolyn, and cut off a slice before passing it on to Cedric. The soup itself was thick and greyish brown, and did not look particularly appetising, but when she tasted it she realised it was quite flavoursome, and it was still hot from being cooked. Armus ate his heartily, tearing off a second thick slice of bread to dip into his bowl.

For a few minutes there was quiet as they all began eating thick soup; the silence merely indicated just how hungry her brothers were. Normally it was hard to shut them up. About halfway through the first course, the servant returned carrying dishes of vegetables, along with a man, who Eleanor suspected was the cook, carrying plates of meat. Armus watched the plates hungrily, almost missing his mouth with a spoonful of soup.

"Do you not feel at all guilty?" Richard asked Gawain. "That you dine so well, whilst the villagers have so little?"

"We do not normally eat like this," Gawain replied. "Especially not in early spring, when supplies of food are running so low. But a visit from a nobleman and his family requires us, as hosts, to provide you with fine food, does it not? Isn't it courteous to give our guests no reason to complain about our hospitality?"

"There was no need to go to special effort for us," Eleanor told him. "We would have been happy to eat whatever you usually do."

"That's very kind of you to say, Lady Eleanor," he said, treating her to a warm smile that went to his eyes. "Perhaps in years hence, when this castle is fully restored, and the lands of the Greenwood rich and verdant, we will be able to welcome you with a true feast."

"There is more to being a noble than scaring off bandits and being able to provide food for your guests," Richard said. Eleanor noticed that he'd barely touched his soup or bread, probably demonstrating his disapproval for his hosts.

"And well I know it," Gawain replied in a cheerful voice. "That is why I have instructed the villagers in the paving of the road through our woods, to encourage travellers and traders to pass by, bringing with them goods and income. That is why I have made improvements in the village, such as moving the midden-heaps far away from the houses, to keep flies and vermin away from the settlement. That is why I spend time in the village, teaching the youngsters how to read and write and count. That is why I personally oversaw the design and construction of a bridge across the river, when the old one was washed away during flood-waters. You do as much for your own people, I'm sure."

"He's got you there," Cedric smiled at Richard. "I've never seen you teaching children how to read and write, and I don't think you've ever built a single bridge in your life."

"Neither have you," Richard countered.

"True, but I'm not the one complaining, am I?"

"Perhaps," Gawain interrupted, "tomorrow, I can take you on a tour of the village and nearby wood, so that you may see some of our accomplishments for yourselves. And maybe then, Sir Richard, your fears about my 'hidden army' will be allayed."

"That sounds like a good idea," said father, and Eleanor nodded in agreement. Yes, she would very much like to see all the changes Gawain had helped to facilitate for his people. "And perhaps we can discuss friendship and trade opportunities, over lunch?"

"An agreeable idea," Gawain said. "And I would like to propose a toast, to friendship."

Everybody raised their glass in agreement – even Richard. And as Eleanor took a sip of her mead, she saw Gawain's attentive eyes watching her, and couldn't stop the smile which spread across her face.


	5. Smoke and Mirrors

Gawain of the Greenwood

_5. Smoke and Mirrors_

Eleanor was tired, but her brothers had invited her into Armus' room, to talk about their thoughts of Greenwood Castle and Gawain himself, and she could hardly resist such a suggestion. Now, she and Cedric sat cross-legged on Armus' bed, whilst Armus himself took the chair beside the small crackling fire in the fireplace, and Richard lounged against the door with his arms folded across his chest. A sure sign that something was bothering him.

"I don't trust these people," Richard said.

"What exactly don't you trust?" Armus asked him.

"I don't know. But something isn't right. Everything seems too… perfect. Plus, they have lied more than once."

"Lied about what?" Cedric asked.

"Well, think about it. Sir Redford told us that Sir Timothy said he was being watched from all around, when he came through the Greenwood. And the tavern-keeper told Sir Redford that Gawain had a whole army inside the castle."

"Likely an exaggeration," Armus said. But something about Richard's words reminded Eleanor of her experience earlier in the day. She decided to mention it to her brothers, and see what they thought of it.

"When I was looking around the castle earlier," she said, "I came across a locked door. I tried to push against the handle but it wouldn't open, and Habal appeared before I could try anything else. I asked him what was behind the door, and he said it was the armoury. But why would you keep an armoury locked?"

"That's obvious," Richard said. "You can judge the size of an army by the amount of weapons in the armoury. Clearly, Gawain wants to keep the size of his army a secret."

"But why?" asked Cedric.

"Maybe it's as small as Gawain says it is, and he merely doesn't want that confirmed in case we tell other nobles who try to take advantage of their small army," Armus suggested. "Or maybe the army is a lot larger than Gawain has told us, and he fears if we know just how large it is, we'll see it as a sign of aggression."

"Either way, he's hiding something," said Richard.

"Can you blame him?" said Eleanor.

"I can, and will. How does he ever expect us to trust him when he continues with these deceptions?"

Well, **I** trust him," she said, putting as much conviction as possible into her words. Let Richard be suspicious all he liked, but until Gawain did something to betray her trust and respect, he would have it.

Armus sighed. "It's getting late. Perhaps we'll learn more when Gawain takes us on his tour tomorrow."

"It's just a waste of time," Richard said. "I don't even know why he bothers to keep up the pretence."

"Isn't it obvious? He wants to prove to father, to all of us, that he's every bit as capable as a Lord," said Armus. "And I tell you what, he's quickly convinced me that he _is_ capable. It's such a shame that he isn't noble-born. If he'd claimed to be a member of the Hawes family, we'd be hard pressed to disprove it."

"You sound like you approve of his deception," Richard accused.

"I approve of his cleverness, and of his effectiveness," Armus replied. "For a hundred years or more, people have feared the Greenwood. Even knights have avoided it. But in just a couple of short years, Gawain has turned this whole place around. The man is a remarkable strategist."

"Or remarkably lucky."

Cedric rolled his eyes, and slid down from the bed. "Well I, for one, am not going to sit here all night listening to the two of you debate tactics and ethics," he said. "I suspect father will be up early tomorrow, and I don't intend to be left behind on this tour."

"Me neither," Eleanor agreed. Perhaps tomorrow, she'd have chance to ride beside Gawain. She could imagine he was an excellent rider.

"Alright," Armus said. "Goodnight, you two."

Eleanor left the room with her younger brother in tow, and stepped out into the chilly corridor. Just as Eleanor was about to open her mouth to bid Cedric goodnight, he placed a finger across his lips in a gesture for silence, and quietly said 'shhh.'

At first she thought he was merely trying to overhear what Armus and Richard were saying inside the room, and she very nearly chastised him for it. Then, she heard a low moaning sound which caused the hairs on her arms to stand on end as it reverberated down the long corridor. She knew, even without a mirror, that her eyes were just as wide as Cedric's, and her skin a similar shade of white.

"It… um… sounds a bit like a ghost, doesn't it?" he said, licking his lips, glancing around fearfully.

"It's probably just wind blowing in through cracks in the old stone," she said, trying to convince herself as much as her brother. "But since our rooms are next door to each other, why don't we walk there together."

"Oh, sure, I guess. That way I'll be able to protect you if a ghost does appear."

Eleanor allowed her brother the lie, and they set off down the stone corridor, tiptoeing warily, senses alert for ghostly activity. By the time they reached their rooms, they had encountered no spooks or spectres, and the eerie wailing sound had grown quieter… as if whatever was making it was moving further away.

"I bet there's an owl roosting in the castle somewhere," Cedric chuckled, a strained smile on his face.

"Yes, no doubt it's that," Eleanor agreed, because it was easier than saying, _'that doesn't sound like any owl I've ever heard before.'_

"Well… good night, Eleanor."

"Sweet dreams, Cedric," she replied. And, as nonchalantly as possible, groped for her bedroom door handle in the half darkness, stumbling into the room when she finally found it. There was a small fire burning brightly in the fireplace, and she fed it another piece of wood, stoking it with an iron poker to encourage it to burn more brightly. Not that she was concerned about the shadows which clung to the corners of her small room as if hiding something from view… she merely wanted a larger fire for the added heat.

When she was happy with the size of the fire, she stripped out of her outer clothes and placed them neatly over the back of a chair, so that they wouldn't crease. She hadn't thought to bring a nightgown, so she merely kept her thin cotton shift on as she crawled beneath the blankets of the bed. Despite the early-spring chill, the room wasn't so bad. Yes, the bedsheets smelt a little musty, as if they hadn't been aired for a while, but they were clean, and not damaged by rodents or insects. She had slept in worse places.

She lay in bed, letting the fire-shadows dance across the ceiling, lulling her mind into a sleepy torpor. Outside, an owl hooted twice as it set out for its nightly hunt, and Eleanor smiled at her earlier foolishness. Ghosts! _Pah!_ There was no such thing. Just the wind howling through an old castle, and her own over-active imagination. Closing her eyes, she finally gave in to the tiredness which plucked at her mind, and allowed sleep to take her.

o - o - o - o - o

"And this," said Gawain, indicating two dark huts which smelled strongly of something fermenting, "is where the mead is brewed. It's our one true commodity."

"What is it, exactly, which gives your mead its distinctive taste?" asked Armus.

Sir Thomas smiled. His eldest son was always curious about food and drink, especially when it was particularly fine.

"I'm sorry, but that is a secret of the Greenwood, and not mine to divulge. I hope you can understand."

"Of course." Armus was always so affable, so forgiving. "I wouldn't ask you to give up one of the few secrets which is of benefit to your people."

"Thank you. So, Sir Thomas." He looked up from his observation of the brewing huts at the mention of his name. "You have seen the improvements I have made to the road, the changed I have wrought in the village, the peace that I have brought to this formerly lawless place. What do you think of it?"

"You have accomplished much," Sir Thomas said. "For the son of a stable-master."

Gawain took the slight in his stride, a small smile creeping across his wide, russet-bearded face. "And you have seen what the son of a stable-master can do when not interfered with by nobles, when allowed to do as he must to bring peace and prosperity. Does it worry you?"

Sir Thomas gave the question serious consideration before answering. "Yes, and no. It worries me because I know how many enemies you must have made, in clearing this region of bandits, and I know what they will probably turn to pillaging the lands of your neighbours, now that there is no safety in yours. And I, as one of your neighbours, must protect my people from that threat. But it also does not concern me because although I see how far you have come, I also see how far you have yet to go. And somehow, I doubt you'll change hearts and minds as rapidly as you hope."

Again, Gawain did not seem disappointed. "There is something I would show you. Come."

The faux-noble spurred his horse forwards, and they went back through the village they had so recently left. Behind Sir Thomas came Armus, his grey eyes taking in the scenery around him with obvious impress, followed by Eleanor, who was looking at Gawain with a somewhat… dewy… look. Similarly, Cedric was loitering around Gwendolyn, purposely keeping Mercury from charging on ahead. Richard, who was still bitter about Gawain's presumptuousness, brought up the rear, followed by an equally suspicious Cole. It seemed that the three men—Cole, Habal and Sir Timothy—took the safety of their Lord and Lady very seriously, even if they weren't actually a Lord and Lady at all. Sir Thomas was shocked that the knight amongst them would serve somebody not noble-born… but he was also impressed, just a little. Gawain, and his cousin, commanded great respect from what were clearly brave warriors, and they commanded the love of the whole village.

A group of children appeared from betwixt the houses, running amongst the legs of the horses, completely fearless. It was hard to believe that just a year or two ago, these people had been terrorised by bandits and brigands. Now they looked happy, and mostly healthy, and the youngsters laughed and played as if they had not a care in the world. They might be hungry at times, and a little dirty, but they lived in safety. They called out to Gawain, asking if he was going to teach them their letters, or to fight with swords. He laughed, and told them 'maybe later'.

It was then Sir Thomas realised that Gawain was more to these people than a false lord. He was a father to those who'd lost theirs, a teacher to people who'd been left in ignorance, a saviour to those abandoned to fate when their last lord had died. That was why they loved him and greeted him so warmly. To them, he was not a noble in title, but in heart and deed. Truly, it was a shame that the realities of life would never allow it to become more than a common man's dream.

Gawain took them to an area that had been cleared of the coppiced woodland, and bare soil was the main feature. Other than several small saplings spaced a few feet apart, there was absolutely nothing of interest here. Sir Thomas looked to their host in confusion.

"This was once called Oakwood," Gawain explained, "and it will be again. Not in your lifetime, and probably not in mine either. But one day, in the future, great oaks will tower here as they did centuries ago, and the Greenwood will be a place of bounty. This will be my legacy. I will restore the forest to what it was, one tree at a time, and there will be progress here, if nowhere else."

"Lofty ideals," Sir Thomas agreed. To attempt to grow back a forest was a huge undertaking, and not one what would come to fruition quickly. It took many decades for hardwood trees like oak to grow to any height, and this place was just one small area of the Greenwood, one tiny nursery for the young saplings. "Surely you understand, however, that eventually the eyes of other nobles will turn to you."

"Is this the point where you offer us friendship and protection in return for something valuable, Sir Thomas?" Gwendolyn spoke up.

"Friendship, perhaps," he told the young woman. "But protection? What would your people think of a Lord who had to turn to others for safety? If Gawain cannot keep his people safe, that merely proves to me that he should not be calling himself a Lord."

"Safety from disorganised, greedy criminals, and safety from trained soldiers with sturdy weapons are two different things. Or at least, they should be."

"Unfortunately, Gwendolyn, the world does not work on 'should be'. It works on 'is'."

"Then perhaps it's time for the world to change."

He narrowed his eyes a little at the young woman's words. She was feisty—perhaps even moreso than Eleanor—but he recognised in her words and in her tone of voice something else. Something deeper. A wish, perhaps, to live in a better world, but tempered by frustration that she could not bring about those changes herself. Elizabeth was like that too, a little, but whereas Eleanor and this Gwendolyn were still fighting their positions in the world, Elizabeth had come to terms with hers, and now used everything she had to her own advantage. God help the world if Eleanor ever became as crafty as Elizabeth Leyland.

"Perhaps this is a conversation better suited to a more comfortable venue," said Gawain. "Sir Thomas, with your permission, I should like to talk more over drinks and a light dinner."

"Yes, of course," he readily agreed. There was still a chill breeze in the air, and although his clothes had dried well overnight, he didn't want to spend any more time outdoors than necessary. Later today, or perhaps tomorrow morning, he and his children would be returning home, and he suspected by the time they reached Covington Cross, they would all have had enough of travelling for the foreseeable future.

When they returned to Greenwood Castle, the entire party dismounted, and Cole stayed behind to help the groom with all the horses. Inside the castle, Gawain called for the maid to bring ale and the cook to bring dinner, then led the Greys, followed by Gwendolyn, into the warmth of the dining room. Before long everybody was seated, and had been provided with fresh cups of refreshing ale. The smell of cooking meat hung in the air; pork, Sir Thomas thought. Most nobles didn't like eating pork, considering it a meat for peasants who did not have the land on which to raise sheep or cattle, nor the right to hunt game on the lands of their lords, but Sir Thomas quite liked the flavour. Armus made a wonderful honey-roasted bacon.

"So, Sir Thomas," Gawain said, setting his ale aside and steepling his fingers in front of his chest. "What do you think of my improvements?"

"I admit that you have changed these peoples' lives for the better," he replied. "The Greenwood has come a long way in the past couple of years… but there is still far for you to go. Sooner or later the eyes of other nobles will turn to you. And if they see you sitting in your castle pretending to be noble-born, they will hang you from the gallows as an example to others."

"Then perhaps I should surround myself with powerful friends and allies. Nobles like you, Sir Thomas, who do not wish to carve off a piece of this land for themselves."

Sir Thomas shook his head. "I cannot enter into such an alliance with you, Gawain, and I'm sure you have already realised that. Such an action would condemn me were it brought to light, as well as you. My family's name would be ruined, and I would lose control of my lands."

"Then perhaps a gesture of friendship?" Gawain suggested. "A less formal trade agreement?"

"And what do you propose to trade?" he replied. "You said yourself that you have few resources, and your people are poor."

"True, but we do have some few things of value. Our mead, for example, is exceptional. We could arrange to supply you twice per year. And though our trees are too small to build with, the supple wood is perfect for making bows. In exchange for grain, we can arrange for our finest young wood to be sent to you… you could hire your own bow-maker, or sell the wood for profit."

Sir Thomas gave the suggestion serious consideration. Admittedly, he had little need for fresh young wood or mead… they were commodities, not necessities. But on the other hand, a trade agreement did not have to be strictly between nobles, which would get around the whole issue of Gawain's lack of nobility. Plus, he had to admit, Gawain's… unique… situation had piqued his interest. He was generally interested in watching events here unfold, in seeing if Gawain could maintain the peace he had forced onto the Greenwood, and how he could help his people to prosper.

He looked to his children, to judge their reactions. Just by looking at Armus' face, he could tell that his eldest son was in favour of this proposal. Armus cared little for airs and graces, and measured a man by his actions, not by his blood. Richard, meanwhile, did not look as if he approved. It was a shame, because Sir Thomas suspected that were circumstances different, Richard and Gawain would get on well together. Unfortunately, Richard had little tolerance for dishonesty, and he took honour and nobility far more seriously than his more affable brother. There was no mistaking the thoughts of Eleanor and Cedric; Eleanor seemed as taken with Gawain as Cedric was with Gwendolyn. Neither of them was particularly politically minded, nor did they care much for business and finance.

"Very well," Sir Thomas agreed. "A year's worth of trading, as a trial to see whether this can work in both our favour. Richard will draw up a contract before we leave."

"Yes, father," Richard replied. Thomas knew that the contract would be fair. Despite Richard's lack of approval, he would see the job done, now that it had been asked of him. He was, after all, a dutiful son.

A commotion out in the corridor caught Sir Thomas' attention, and Habal came rushing into the dining room, his hair windswept and boots muddied.

"Bandits," he said, before Gawain could even invite him to speak. Though there was excitement and anger in Habal's voice, his face was nothing but a mask of calmness. A man who was not afraid of bandits. "A dozen, armed with swords and crossbows. I spotted Bloody William at the head of their group."

His entrance and news did not elicit the response that Sir Thomas was expecting. Whilst Gawain remained seated, concern flickering across his face, Gwendolyn leapt to her feet and spun around to address the dark-skinned man.

"You know what to do. Sound the alarm bell," she instructed, her voice as sure and strong as any knight-captain. Clearly she expected to be obeyed without question.

Habal nodded, then rushed from the room as quickly as he'd entered. Sir Thomas could feel his own brows deepening as a frown spread across his face, and saw similar expressions of concern amongst his children. Before he could even question what was happening, however, Gwendolyn turned to him.

"Sir Thomas, you and your family are guests here, and I hate to ask this of you, but we need your help. The whole village needs your help."

"What is going on here, Gawain?" Thomas asked the red-haired man, who merely offered a small, apologetic smile.

"I suppose it is time for you to know the truth," Gwendolyn continued. She stepped away from the table, head held high, her entire posture different. She no longer moved like a lady of the castle, but as a hunting cat amongst the wood-pigeons. "The truth is, there _is_ no 'Gawain of the Greenwood'."

"I don't understand."

"Perhaps I can help clarify," Gawain said, standing up beside Gwendolyn. "I apologise for deceiving you, Sir Thomas, but my name is not Gawain. It is Andrew. And the story I told you, the story of my life, is not actually _my_ story, it is Gwen's. She is the one who grew up here, in the Greenwood. She is the one who lost her family was taken to Northumberland as a child. She is the one who learned how to ride and hunt and fight… I am merely a friend."

Pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place, but this revelation brought only more questions.

"Why the deception?" Sir Thomas asked.

Gwendolyn shook her head. "Please, I will explain all of this to you soon, but first the bandits must be dealt with. Bloody William is one of the worst… a thief and a murderer. I thought he'd died in one of our late-night raids on the bandit camps, but it would seem not. If he has regrouped, and brought armed men here, he can only be thinking of looting and pillaging the village, perhaps of taking Greenwood Castle for himself. Please, will you aid us in defending our lands?"

"They're not _your_ lands," Richard pointed out. Sir Thomas did not upbraid him for it; his son was right. "Besides, if you've driven this 'Bloody William' off before, why do you need our help to do it again?"

"Because last time we drove him off under the cover of darkness, and he didn't have a small army behind him." Gwendolyn turned her gaze to Thomas, her sapphire-blue eyes pleading with him to understand. "Cole, Habal, Sir Thomas and I are but four warriors. We cannot hope to defeat our attackers under these circumstances… and we cannot afford to allow them to siege us in the castle. My people would quickly starve."

Sir Thomas glanced at his children, trying to read their thoughts on this situation. Armus gave him a quick nod, and both Eleanor and Cedric were practically hovering out of their seats at the prospect of rushing into combat; further proof that although they were grown up, they still had a lot to learn. Richard, meanwhile, looked to have serious reservations, but Sir Thomas knew that his second son was no coward. If It came down to a fight, Richard wouldn't hesitate to defend the innocent against brigands.

"Very well," he agreed, nodding to confirm his words to himself. "We will help you drive off these bandits. But then, Gwendolyn, if that even is your name, you and I are going to have a very long talk."


	6. Gwen of the Greenwood

Gawain of the Greenwood

_6. Gwen of the Greenwood_

The courtyard of Greenwood Castle was a hive of activity, and though it seemed like chaos, it was _organised_ chaos, and Sir Thomas found himself impressed. A bell behind the keep wall continued to toll with urgency, pulled on its rope by one of the village boys. Outside the stable, the horses were being tacked up and tethered to the holding rail by the groom and several volunteers who seemed to know their way around horses, whilst Cole and Habal were dispensing weapons to the villagers from the armoury. At least Sir Thomas knew what had been locked away behind the door that Eleanor had encountered. Because metal was rare in the woods, there were less than a half-dozen swords, which went to the most accomplished swordsmen in the village—though judging by the way they clumsily fumbled to fasten them to their belts, that wasn't saying much. Wood, though, was ubiquitous, and the people of the Greenwood had been very industrious. Over a dozen good quality bows were handed out, some to a few men, the rest to village women. The children and the elderly, meanwhile, were making their way into the castle proper.

Gwen sat astride her horse, a plain-looking bay that was probably worth its weight in silver, casting her cool-eyed gaze over everything that was happening. Sir Thomas, already mounted on Cloud, sat patiently beside her, whilst his children waited for their horses to be readied. Thomas knew they had a short time yet; Sir Timothy was out scouting in the forest, keeping an eye on on the bandits. He'd been instructed to return when they were a half-mile from the village.

"You don't seem at all concerned," Thomas remarked to Gwen. Indeed, she sat with the practised calmness common to knights and experienced soldiers.

"I am," she replied quietly. She'd found time to change out of her dress and into a pair of trews, brown riding boots, a loose-fitting shirt and a leather jerkin. A sword was sheathed at her hip, and she looked every bit the tom-boy as Eleanor. "I just cannot allow my concern to show. The people of the village look to 'Lady Gwendolyn' and take their cues from me as much as from Gawain."

Thomas looked around at the faces of the women and men who stood with arms ready. They were trying very hard to appear confident; a few bitten lips and chewed fingernails betrayed their nerves, but they did not appear to be ready to flee in terror.

"And just where is 'Gawain'?" he asked.

"Getting changed into armour," the young woman replied somewhat stiffly. "He has to look the part."

A thought suddenly occurred to him. "These people don't know that you're the one in charge here, do they?"

Gwen shook her head. "They listen to and adore Gawain because even though he is not a true Lord, he behaves like one. But me? I can never be a Lord, or a Knight. All I can ever be is a Lady. Men, even the men in our village, would not be so quick to take instruction from Gwen as from Gawain. I am constrained not only by my lack of nobility, but by my sex."

Thomas nodded to himself. Her curtness now made much more sense to him. She had a battle to fight on two fronts, and neither of them was likely to be won anytime soon. Gwen, he could tell, hated needing to hide behind the facade of Gawain. She hated that even though a man could be respected by other men despite his lack of nobility, a woman could not.

And Eleanor thought she had it tough!

His children began to mount their horses, Armus, Richard and Cedric wearing their swords, Eleanor carrying her crossbow. Thomas didn't like the thought of his youngest two entering battle, but they'd proven themselves in a fight more than once. Besides, Eleanor's bow would keep her out of the thick of things, and Armus and Richard would keep one eye each on Cedric.

"Cease sounding the alarm!"

The voice of Gawain—no, Andrew, Sir Thomas recalled—boomed around the courtyard, followed by a cessation in noise. The boy who'd been ringing the bell scampered out of sight, and everybody turned to look at the armoured figure who stepped into their ranks. Andrew immediately began to issue orders, gesturing first to the eight or so women who'd been given bows.

"You will defend Greenwood Castle whilst our forces are away," he said. "If a man approaches whom you do not recognise, shoot him on sight." One of the women, perhaps their leader, nodded in agreement, and Andrew turned to the men with swords. "You will remain here and aid them in case the castle walls are breached."

"Yes, Gawain!" they chorused.

Cole and Habal appeared from the castle door, belting their swords as they strode towards their horses. They mounted, followed by Andrew who had to be helped into his saddle because his armour was so heavy. Thomas quickly gestured for his children to fall into line behind him. Armus manoeuvred Thunder to one side of Cloud, whilst Richard positioned Copper to the other side. Cedric and Eleanor were forced to travel behind him, but that was the way he preferred it.

"You men," Andrew said to five of the archers, "will come with us and take up positions within the village. You will fire two rounds on my command, then retreat back to the Castle. Just as we practised. Do you understand?"

"Of course," they agreed.

And just like that, the company was moving. 'Gawain' took the lead, with Cole and Habal flanking him. Behind them came Sir Thomas, and Gwen fell in beside him as he nudged Cloud forward, with his children following closely and the five archers traipsing after the horses. Judging by the number of arrows in their quivers, Gwen had been preparing for something like this for some time. The arrows were even tipped; there was probably a fletcher amongst the villagers, though Thomas had seen no sign of one during his ride through the village.

The small procession had barely gone two-dozen paces when the sound of hoofbeats pounding along the road could be heard. Andrew didn't stop his march, though, and a few seconds later Sir Timothy appeared. His horse was sweaty across its flanks and starting to foam at the mouth as it chomped at its bit.

"Fifteen in total," Timothy reported to Andrew. Thomas wondered if the knight knew who is true master was. But that was a question for later. "Three mounted, including Bloody William. The rest are common thugs, though they do have a few crossbows. They're a half mile away from the village."

"Then we'd better get there fast and prepare a welcome for them," said Andrew.

The false noble increased his pace to a trot, and Timothy went on ahead to ensure the village was still secure. Behind, the archers had to jog to keep up.

They found Sir Timothy waiting in the village, which was otherwise unoccupied. Thomas glanced around, looking for the best defensible positions. He quickly realised that the defenders already had an advantage, in the form of higher ground. The archers of the group took up positions behind several houses, where attackers would not be able to see them crouching in readiness.

With a few minutes to spare, Sir Thomas turned to Gwen, whilst Andrew, Cole, Habal and Sir Timothy rode a few paces forward.

"Who is this 'Bloody William'?" he asked her.

"A man so-named because when he was the leader of the bandits here in the Greenwood, he slaughtered so many that the river ran red with blood for an entire day. The village closest to the castle fared better than most; it was under the rule of another self-styled bandit lord, whom Bloody William did not wish to cross. Two or three of the other villages within the Greenwood were not so lucky, however."

"Why didn't you drive him out or kill him, like you did the others?"

A dark scowl marred the woman's pretty face. "I thought I had. I shot him with my bow during one of our hit-and-run night raids. I thought my arrow had pierced his eye; I saw his body dragged off by one of his more loyal minions during the chaos and their attempt to escape. Clearly the shot was not as fatal as I originally thought."

"Father, what are your instructions?" Armus asked.

"Stay close for now," he told his eldest son, but he also included the rest of his children in the instructions. "Eleanor, you are to stay back with the archers and use your crossbow. Cedric, I want you to remain by my side, regardless of whether we have to fight. Armus, Richard, you help 'Gawain' and the others as best you can."

"But father—" Eleanor begin, just about beating Cedric to his own complaint. Thomas lifted his hand, cutting off his daughter's words.

"Do not argue with me Eleanor. And that goes for you too, Cedric. Otherwise I'll send you back to the castle. It is a knight's duty to obey his liege, and a son's duty to obey his father. A daughter's duty too, for that matter."

"Movement!" Sir Timothy called, and the Greys all turned their attention towards the road to the village once more.

The bandits were a motley group, some large men, some small, all of them armed and the majority unkempt. Three of them rode horses which were nowhere near as fine as the Greys' horses, or the horses from Greenwood Castle. It was to the man at the fore of the group that Thomas' eyes went. He was a tall man, and looked built for toiling in the fields all day. His clothes were of dark brow leather, some of it studded and frayed, and a dark black patch was fastened across his left eye. It would seem Gwen's shot had caused damage after all. Thomas had known men to die, after losing an eye. Mostly it was shock and blood-loss which caused death.

There was movement from the group of mounted men in the village, and Andrew pushed his horse ahead by a single pace.

"Bloody William," he said. "Your reign of terror in this forest is long over. You have survived a fight against me once, but you will not have the chance to do so again."

"Doesn't matter if I survive," the man sneered back, his gravelly voice carrying through air that was so tense it almost thrummed. "I came for one thing, and one thing only. Vengeance." He drew a dagger, pointing towards the eye-patch with the tip of the weapon. "Your handiwork, milord. And you know what it says in the Bible; an eye for an eye. Only, I charge interest, so I'm going to take both of yours, and put your head on a pike so the people who worship the ground you piss on can see you're just as killable as any other man."

There was no warning. Three men from Bloody William's group raised their crossbows and prepared to unleash their bolts. Andrew and the others scattered, as did Armus and Richard, moving their horses so they made harder targets to hit.

"Archers!" Andrew shouted.

The men with bows stepped out from behind cover just as the crossbowmen released their own weapons. Thomas heard the _thud _as one body in the village hit the ground, but then he saw two of the bandits go down too; one of them a bow-wielder.

"We should charge before they have time to reload their crossbows!" Richard shouted above the din of screaming horses and yelling men.

"Wait!" Gwen said. There was a look of concentration in her eyes, as if she controlled the battle herself with only her strength of will. "We've trained many times for this."

Sir Thomas was glad she'd called for them to wait. Longbows and shortbows were much faster to reload, draw, aim and fire than crossbows; a good archer could get off several shots before a crossbowman could manage his second. The archers of the village were not good, but they were good enough for now. They fired a second volley into the ranks of the bandits. Two more went down; one of them mounted. The horse began bucking beneath him, catching another brigand a painful blow in the chest. Only foolish men rode horses untrained for war into a battle. They were more a liability than a help.

The archers knew how to follow instructions. After they'd released their second round of arrows, they turned and ran for the castle as Andrew had told them. Meanwhile, the two remaining crossbowmen had reloaded and fired two bolts. Sir Thomas heard two cries of pain, one of them very familiar. His paternal instinct kicked in immediately. Swivelling in his saddle, he saw Cedric slumped over Mercury's back, clutching one arm as blood poured down it.

As fast as Thomas was, Richard was faster. He was already by his brother's side, examining the wound despite the chaos around him.

"A glancing blow!" Richard reported. "The bolt grazed his arm, but didn't go through it."

Thomas couldn't help but heave a sigh of relief. Crossbow bolts were nasty things. A man might recover well from an arrow through the arm, even if it was tipped, because arrows tended to pierce flesh but be deflected by bone. Crossbow bolts were an entirely different beast; they not only tore flesh, but had enough force behind them to shatter bone entirely. A bolt through an arm usually meant an amputated arm. It was not a fate Thomas would wish on any man, much less his youngest son.

The thunder of hooves told Thomas that the cavalry was charging. Looking up, he saw Cole, Habal and Sir Timothy lining up their horses, ready to mow down the bandits. When Gwen also nudged her horse forward, riding past Andrew who had backed off and seemed content to watch, he reacted on instinct, kicking Cloud forwards, after the young woman's horse.

"Armus, with me!" he called. "Richard, Eleanor, stay with Cedric!"

The next few moments happened so quickly that they appeared to happen slowly. The three horses at the front of the line went forward into a canter even before Gwen, Thomas and Armus had caught up with them. Thomas soon understood why. They'd spotted that the crossbowmen would need a moment to reload, and couldn't afford any more losses. But just as Sir Thomas was about to take Cloud into canter to join them, the three riders pulled their horses up fast, stopping them almost dead. The bandits, who'd been faced with a potential cavalry charge, had spread themselves out and begun to run forwards, swords held high in lieu of pikes. When the cavalry charge halted, the bandits did not.

There was a loud _thwack,_ and Sir Thomas glanced to his left in time to see Andrew hack at a rope that had been suspended from one of the house walls. An ominous creak sounded from above, and when he looked up, he realised why the cavalry charge had stopped. A large amount of timber, which looked like nothing more than a web of forest branches, fell from the trees above now that they were no longer fastened by the rope which held the whole thing precariously in place. The brigands didn't realise they were running into a trap until the wood was falling down around them. Several were hit on the head and knocked unconscious. Bloody William was knocked from his horse but quickly found his footing and his sword. Eight bandits made it through the trap, their faces contorted into bloody-thirsty inhuman masks.

It happened so quickly that there was barely time to think. The bandits closed with the riders, and if there was any doubt that Sir Timothy was a knight, it immediately fled from Thomas' mind. The knight's horse was obviously trained well for war. It began to kick out at nearby aggressors, knocking one off his feet and probably breaking his ribs, and then lunging for another with its teeth.

Habal didn't wait for an enemy to approach him. He threw himself out of his saddle, clearly preferring unmounted combat. He let out a guttural roar and launched himself at the first assailant he saw. The bandit suddenly looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here, but the expression on his face lasted only as long as it took for Habal to run him through with his sword.

Sir Thomas was as accomplished on the ground as he was on horseback, and he decided to remain on Cloud as he drew his sword to parry an incoming blow. From the corner of his eye he saw Armus dismount before drawing his own weapon; no doubt he wanted to keep Thunder out of harm's way. The horse provided a large target, but he wouldn't stray too far away from his master.

The melee was over almost as soon as it had begun. The bandits had the slight advantage in numbers, but they were poorly trained and seemed to have little experience with the sword. Probably they'd been brawlers, bare-fist fighters. Most of them didn't look as if they could afford to buy swords; they were probably stolen from somewhere.

As Thomas' opponent went down with a fatal cut to the throat, he glanced around for another attacker. Habal was in the middle of dispatching a second opponent, and to Thomas' surprise, he saw Gwen fighting one-on-one with Bloody William. Her style was unique. She obviously lacked the strength of a man, but countered that disparity by employing grace of movement. Her defence relied not on blocking, but on parrying. She moved fluidly, stepping from stance to stance, and simply failed to be in the places where William's sword expected to find her.

The conclusion of the fight was foregone. As Bloody William swung again, hacking at the air like another man might hack at a tree, Gwen moved quickly around, lifted her sword, and plunged it through his side, the blade flat to allow it to better pierce his ribs. There was a look of shock and disbelief on Bloody William's face as he collapsed to the ground, and within seconds he had ceased to breathe.

For a long moment there were no words. Everybody was breathing hard, more with excitement than with exertion. Sir Thomas glanced back to check on Cedric, but did not embarrass the boy by making a fuss. Beside, Richard was tending to his brother, and Eleanor was watching protectively, a fierce look in her eyes. She gripped her crossbow as if she intended to bludgeon to death anyone who came near her brother. As far as Thomas could tell, her weapon had not been fired.

The victors moved amongst the dead and the dying, helping along anybody who was suffering. By the time all the horses, including the ones owned by the bandits, had been retrieved and tethered securely, the village was richer by fifteen corpses, and a murder of crows had begun to gather atop the trees.

"Shot in the back."

Gwen's words caught Thomas' attention. He turned and found her crouched over one of the villagers. It was obvious how he had died; the amount of blood and damage covering his back was indicative of a crossbow bolt entry wound. Gwen shook her head.

"What a waste. Only a coward shoots a man in the back."

"To be fair, I don't think those crossbowmen were aiming for anyone in particular," Armus said sadly. "It was dumb luck on their behalf, and bad luck on ours."

"An unacceptable loss," Gwen countered. "I should have seen this. I should have planned for it."

Sir Thomas stepped forward. "Two losses, compared to fifteen. I'd say that what you have done here is nothing short of miraculous."

"Tell that to the families of these men."

The anger and ferocity had gone from Gwen's face now, replaced by a look of infinite sadness. Her blue eyes seemed to convey everything that was wrong with the world and more.

"What should we do with the bodies?" Habal asked. His dark clothes were blood-spattered, but the blood was not his own.

"The bandits?" Gwen replied. "Burn them. Far from here. I don't want the village tainted with their filth. As for the two villagers… ask Cole to cover their bodies for now. We have funerals to prepare for."

o - o - o - o - o

"It wasn't easy for me, growing up in Northumberland. I was the only girl-child in the castle. They stable-boys were… not kind. The servants mostly ignored me. They hated that Lady Clara had taken such an interest in me. They hated having to cater to me."

Cedric listened in rapt attention as Gwendolyn finally told the Greys the truth. Or at least, what she claimed was the truth. This time.

Twenty-four hours had passed since the Battle of Greenwood, as he would always recount it when asked. His arm had stopped bleeding and had been expertly bandaged by Gawain, or Andrew, or whatever he was called, but it still ached horribly. Still, it was a small price to pay. Armus said he might end up with a small scar, and Cedric was sure women thought scars to be very manly things.

"The captain of the guard said I reminded him of his niece," Gwen continued. There was a small smile on her face as she swirled the mead in her cup around in front of the firelight. "He thought it amusing to teach me the sword. Not amusing in a cruel way, you understand. I guess he felt sorry for me, having nobody but my uncle to talk to, or Lady Clara. Of course, the boys sent up to the keep to train with the sword hated that I was learning too. I think they felt threatened by it. They were all surprised that I could even learn the sword, but once I managed to compensate for its heavy weight, I did just fine. So by day I'd learn the things a boy learns; horse care, archery, sword and stave. And by night, Lady Clara would bring me to her room to teach me music and have me learn my letters so that I could read for her."

Gwen's blue eyes came up, resting for a moment on Cedric before flickering over to the face of his father.

"The rest of the story that Andrew told you is true. When Clara died, the servants became even more hostile. And the young men training to become squires and fighters began to look at me differently. I didn't like the looks in their eyes. I thought I was safe, but when my uncle died but a few months later, I knew I couldn't stay. Lord Linley didn't like me, and I knew he wouldn't think twice about it if I came to harm."

"It was a brave thing you did, to set out alone," Armus said. Cedric mentally cursed his brother; he'd wanted to say that himself! Now he was going to have to find a new compliment.

"I wasn't alone for long. I met Cole on the road, and Andrew joined us a few weeks later, and then we rescued Habal, who pledged himself to my protection. The rest, you know. I'm sorry that I had to deceive you. That I had to ask Andrew to deceive you. But as I'm sure you can understand, they were lies born out of necessity."

"As much as I dislike lies," Sir Thomas said, "I can understand why you did it. And I have to admit, your accomplishments here are no less because you are a woman. I take it that the trap in the village was your idea, too?"

Gwen nodded. "Being smaller than most of my opponents means I have to think creatively, and use my environment to my advantage. Sir Timothy has helped with some of my preparations, such as scouting the high road and the warning bell, but the majority are mine. So… what say you, Sir Thomas? Do we still have our trade agreement?"

It seemed to Cedric that every member of the Grey family held their breath, even Richard. He'd relaxed somewhat since learning that it was Gwen who controlled the Greenwood, and not 'Gawain.' Cedric suspected his brother didn't feel as threatened by a woman pretending to be a noble man as he did a man pretending to be a noble man. Which was a bit stupid, really, but if it stopped Richard from acting like an ass, then Cedric didn't care.

"Very well," said Sir Thomas at last. "The same terms as before. But my family and I really must be leaving in the morning. We've more than overstayed our welcome, and I have my own lands to return to. I just hope the Friar's managed to cope with everything whilst we've been away."

"Of course, I understand," Gwen said graciously. "You may retire to your rooms as you require. Cedric, I would speak with you as you return to your room, if you don't mind."

Cedric leapt to his feet so quickly that the chair almost toppled beneath him. "Of course I don't mind! I mean, it would be my pleasure to talk to you further."

Ignoring the grins of his siblings, he followed Gwen out of the door. He shivered as the cold air of the corridor whipped away the lingering heat of the fire from his body.

"I hope your arm doesn't pain you too much," Gwen said, glancing at his arm, which was held still in a short sling to prevent the muscle tearing and bleeding again.

"Oh, hardly at all," he lied, and saw a small smile play across her lips. "So, err, of what did you wish to speak?"

"I wanted to say thank-you."

"Oh." He knew that he sounded disappointed, but he couldn't help it. "For what? All I did was get shot."

She shook her head, long brown locks fanning out around her. "No, not for that. I mean for being so accepting. You're one of the few men I've met who doesn't care that I can ride and fight and that I have a grasp on politics. Most men don't accept aspirations in a woman. But it truly doesn't bother you, does it?"

"Not at all," he assured her earnestly.

She stopped outside his bedroom door and turned to face him. Before he could even think of inviting her in, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek softly.

"You're very sweet," she said. "I hope you don't lose that."

"You know," he said, thinking fast, "this means we're officially neighbours now. I'm sure we'll be seeing a lot more of each other in the future. I don't mind riding back here if you'd like some company. And I'd be happy to welcome you as my guest to Covington Cross, and show you around my home."

"Perhaps one day," she replied. "For now, I have lands to secure and lives to improve. Right now, all of my thoughts and attention must be committed to the Greenwood. Though I do hope that one day, when men and women are equal whether they are noble or common, I will be able to take you up on your offer of hospitality."

"Heh." He felt his heart deflate a little. "I wish that moment was just around the corner, but I think there's more chance of pigs growing wings and flying like birds."

"Perhaps." She smiled. "Goodnight, Cedric."

"Night, Gwen."

He watched her leave, and was glad he hadn't invited her into the room after all. He suspected she'd respect him less for it. Besides, now he had something new to work for. Social equality sounded like an excellent cause, in his most humble opinion.

o - o - o - o - o

Eleanor watched Cedric follow Gwen out of the room, looking like the cat that had just gotten cream. She suspected her little brother was in over his head in this case, however. Learning that 'Gawain' was really 'Gwen' had been a shock, to say the least. Eleanor had always thought that she was the only woman interested in fighting and riding and being seen as equal to men in all things. But Gwen was not only as good as Eleanor at those things, but better!

Her heart fluttered in fright when she heard someone take the seat next to her, but she relaxed a little when she saw it was only Gawain. Or rather, Andrew. He gave her a smile which lit up his eyes, though it also had something of a… sheepish… quality to it.

"Lady Eleanor, I hope I'm not disturbing you," he said.

"Not at all." From the corner of her vision she noticed Armus and Richard move away to discuss something together, giving Eleanor a little privacy, for which she was grateful. "Is there something on your mind?"

"Actually, I wanted to offer my personal apologies to you, for the lies I had to tell you and your family."

She nodded. This was a subject she had hoped would not come up, but now that he was here, in front of her, there was just one thing she wanted to know.

"Was any of what you told me true?"

"Very little, I'm afraid. But I'd like to tell you the truth now, if you're willing to hear it."

She folded her arms across her chest and settled back into her chair. "Alright."

"I, like Gwen, grew up in Lord Linley's castle, but I wasn't born there. I was actually born to the Celts, and was found by one of Lord Linley's soldiers following a recent battle, one Celts tribe against another. I was found in the ruins of a village, the sole survivor. The soldier took me back to the keep and gave me to one of the maids to look after. She named me Andrew, and for all intents and purposes, I consider her my mother. I have no idea who my real parents are."

"How sad!" she said, as Andrew's story tugged at the strings of her heart.

"Indeed. Anyway, when I was thirteen, it was decided that I wouldn't make a very good servant, and it just so happened that the Bishop of Coventry was visiting the area, 'raising the morale of men fighting a constant vigilance against the barbaric Celts,' as he put it. He agreed to take me me with him when he returned home, and I was pressed into the service of the church."

"You're a _priest_?" she asked, knowing that her voice was full of disbelieving tones. Andrew was like no priest she had ever met before. He was charming and handsome, for a start.

"Well, I was never ordained. You see, I was travelling with one of the senior clerics by coach to Worcester, when our coach was attacked by highwaymen. Just as we feared they'd rob us of our much-needed charity funds, a pair of soldiers rode up and chased the criminals off. And when one of the soldiers pulled back his hood, who should I find beneath it but my old friend Gwen?

"She recognised me instantly, of course." He gave her a wink. "It's the colour of my hair, I think." Eleanor felt a smile play unbidden across her lips. Andrew _did_ have very auburn hair. "At that moment," he continued, "I felt as if God had put me in her path for a reason. She and Cole escorted us to Worcester, and when they left, I left with them. The rest you know."

"Why did you agree to lie to people in the village? Isn't it dishonourable for a man of the cloth to lie?"

"Yes, but I believe it is for the greater good. If people's lives are improved because they believe I am something I am not, then so be it. I don't like it, but I'd prefer this to seeing them suffer. I don't approve of all the killing that's had to be done—I would prefer to see the brigands in the Greenwood rehabilitated, and brought into God's light, but so far they've been unwilling to listen to reason." He sighed. "Some men just prefer physical pleasures of the flesh to spiritual pleasures of the soul. But at least I can educate the people of the village, and try to prevent the next generation from becoming murderers and thieves.

"So, that is my story. I hope you can understand and forgive my lies, even though I may not be worthy of your forgiveness."

Eleanor subjected the man before her to a long moment of scrutiny, but she just couldn't stay angry with him, even though she still felt a little foolish over being deceived by him.

"Does the Bible not teach forgiveness?" she asked.

"That it does. I see you know your holy texts."

"Not as well as Cedric does. But we attend sermons on Sundays with our Friar, and he teaches us the words of the Bible."

Andrew stood up, and offered his hand. "You are as intelligent as you are beautiful, Lady Eleanor. Will you allow me to escort you safely to your room for the night? I have a feeling the ghosts may be restless this eve."

"There aren't _really_ any ghosts here, are there?"

"I suppose that depends on whether you believe in them." She stood up and set her hand into his. "Personally, I believe that ghosts are the spirits of the dead who have not yet found their way into the light of the Lord. It's just one more task ahead of me."

"One which I'm certain you will accomplish."

"I hope so. I'd like to see the ghosts of the Greenwood put to rest. I believe that only then can the true healing begin."

o - o - o - o - o

Bright sunlight shone in through the small stained-glass windows of Greenwood Castle, sending coloured beams of light playing across the floor and walls. The sun hinted at more favourable weather to come. The start of spring had truly begin.

Eleanor glanced at the woman who walked behind her. Gwen had come to her bedroom to offer an apology for her previously unwelcoming words, and now that the hand of friendship had been offered, Eleanor found it remarkably easy to accept.

"I hope that one day, you manage to find yourself a husband who will accept you as you are, and not try to force you to conform to the idea of what a woman should be," Gwen said.

"Thank you. And I hope that your campaign here in the Greenwood is a success, and that you are able to bring peace and stability to the region."

Gwen nodded in thanks for the thought. She was dressed once more in a gown, and Eleanor felt a pang of envy; _she_ never looked that pretty in gowns.

"You're always welcome to come and visit me at Covington Cross," Eleanor offered. "Perhaps we could go hunting together. Show my brothers how it's done."

"When my duties here afford me time away from the keep… I would like that."

The sunlight greeted both women as they stepped out of the castle and into the courtyard. Eleanor's brothers were ready to depart, and all the horses were tacked ready for their journey. When Richard saw both women approach, he stepped forward.

"You will have our trade contract within the next few days, Gwen," he said. Then he ran one of his brown-gloved hands through his curly hair. "And please accept my apologies for my rude words. I realise, now, that I have a habit of speaking my thoughts without first thinking about them."

"Oh, _now_, he realises!" said Cedric, melodramatically throwing his hands up into the air.

"Thank you, Richard," said Gwen. "Have a safe ride back to Covington Cross, and I look forward to receiving your papers."

"You know I'm not going to give up on prying that honey mead recipe out of you," Armus said, replacing his younger brother who was mounting his chestnut horse.

"It will take stronger hands than yours to prise that secret from me, Armus."

The eldest Grey took his horse's reins from the groom and led Thunder over towards Copper. Cedric stepped up, and took Gwen's hand in his own, affecting a low bow and a sweep of his cloak before kissing the back of her hand.

"Until next time, my Lady," he grinned.

"Pleasant journey, good sir," Gwen replied. There was a glimmer of amusement in her eyes.

Eleanor nodded at Gwen, and then at Andrew, who was standing a little further away from the group. Both people returned her gesture, and she turned for her horse's reins. Damascus was as fresh as ever after days mostly cooped up in a stable, but she managed to mount him without being thrown, and then watched as her father approached Gwen.

"I wish you luck, Gwendolyn, because I think you're going to need it," he said. Eleanor recognised the patient tone of understanding in his voice. It was his bad-news-delivery voice. "With your victory over Bloody William, you have bought yourself a reprieve, but I fear it won't be much longer before the eyes of other nobles begin to turn towards you. They will not be taken in by your lies, and if they come with their armies they won't be as easy to defeat as a group of untrained, undisciplined brigands."

"Then I hope if such a time ever comes, I can count on your friendship and guidance, Sir Thomas."

Eleanor's father gave a small smile. "Before we can run, we must learn to walk. And before we can walk, we must learn to crawl. Let us see if this trade agreement between us can prove fruitful. If so, perhaps we may talk of friendship in the future."

"I look forward to such talks," Gwen replied.

The groom held Cloud's stirrup in place as Sir Thomas mounted the tall white horse, and Eleanor took one last look around the courtyard. Yes, Greenwood Castle was old, and it needed a lot of work, and it was probably haunted. But today, in the sunlight, it looked for the first time to be a place of hope, and of new life.

Sir Thomas signalled his children to follow him out of the courtyard, and soon Eleanor's attention was taken by her horse. Damascus seemed to think their departure was a race, and she was so focused on keeping him in check that she barely even noticed the children running alongside, an unofficial escort to their first party of visiting nobles.

Once clear of the village, Cedric trotted his horse to her side.

"Tell you what, I'll race you to the bridge over the river," he said, and he kicked Mercury into a canter.

That was all the excuse Damascus needed. The excitable young horse thoroughly ignored his rider's instructions and leapt into flight after his older brother. From behind, Eleanor heard her father shout '_Slow down or you'll break your foolish necks!'_ but she couldn't have stopped Damascus even if she'd cared to try. She laughed as the cool wind brought tears to her eyes, and her long hair streaked behind her as she caught and passed Cedric.

Life, she decided, was too short to be worried about slowing down. The smell of summer was in the air, and she had the whole world in front of her. Today she had made a new friend, and she suspected that with Gwen and her campaign in the Greenwood right next door to Covington Cross, many more new adventures would follow.

_= The End =_

* * *

_Author's Note: Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this story. I know, I know, it started slow and all the action seemed to happen right at the end. Hopefully the ending didn't feel __**too**__ rushed. This is one of several stories I have planned for Covington Cross. My next CC fic will be entitled 'Knights', and to give you a sneaky idea of what it's about, here's the tagline: _As Sir Thomas plans to find a suitable wife for Armus, Richard suffers a terrible accident, and has to face a possible future in which he cannot carry out his knightly duties. His injury reawakens old pains for Armus, who has never wanted to take up the responsibilities of an oldest son.

_So, what's next week's story? Well, if I remember rightly, I promised a Deadpool fic. Buuuut I only have the first 5 or 6 chapters written, and I'm going to need a few more before it's finished. So instead, I'll be uploading a short __**Supernatural**__ story whilst I work on my fic about the Merc with a Mouth. I will of course be updating my DS9/Cardassian fic every Wednesday as per usual, and working on a pre-Mass Effect story when the mood strikes me, but if none of those tickle your fancy, then I'll see you next Friday for some Winchester fun!_


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